


In Real Life

by unicornsandbutane



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Body Modification, Burnplay, Cigarettes, Flogging, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Scarring, Sex Work, Whipping, camboy kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8242519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandbutane/pseuds/unicornsandbutane
Summary: It’s kind-of an astounding coincidence that Hux’s favourite camguy lives in the same city as he does, but that’s what the P.O. box address in the bio of “Kylo (29)”, indicates. Even in a city like Los Angeles, containing some four million people, it’s hard to believe. They make the poor decision to meet in person. Neither one of them is what the other expected.





	1. L.A. Plays Itself

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this chapter comes from an experimental gay BDSM porn from the early 1970s, which I’ve only ever seen in art museums as copies are notoriously difficult to find. I believe it’s the only piece of homosexual pornographic film in the permanent collection of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Your fun fact of the day.
> 
> beta by the multitalented [Scrunchles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/works).

It was a weakness, but a necessary evil, Hux thought, typing in his login details and unticking the box that said 'remember me on this computer'. In the unlikely event that his laptop should get stolen, he would not want even burglars knowing he had a subscription to this website. 

It was paid for with a series of prepaid debit cards unconnected to his bank account. It was registered under an alias. It felt like he was being a little paranoid, maybe, but it was all for his own mental well-being. Usually, that he had a subscription to the site at all was rationalised in that same way.

He didn't have time or energy to go about these things in the 'usual' way, he told himself, and besides which he disliked the idea of investing in a project that might not work out. This is how it came to be that he was a regular subscriber to a camming website.

He'd been drawn in by the clean, modern web design and easy-to navigate profiles of the different webcam performers. Black and grey with red highlights could usually spell a design disaster, but it was tasteful, understated, and remarkably, free of malware. Additionally it catered to his tastes surprisingly well, with muscular, clean-shaven men around his age peering seductively out from the photographs. Not bears, not twinks, not gym bunnies or whatever other quaint monikers he usually found browsing anything marked m4m. And, though he was a little ashamed of the fact, he had a favourite among the cam guys.

Kylo, 29, was a fairly recent addition to the site, though his ascent to popularity had been nothing short of meteoric. Even beyond the three-month period it usually took for a new performer's novelty to wear off, Kylo still gained new viewers who returned again and again. There was just something about him, something about the fire in his eyes, the jut of his chin, the pout of his lips that drew the viewers in. He had a long, jagged scar that cut from the bridge of his nose and down to his deltoid, and in his early days he'd clearly tried to downplay it with makeup, but lately, he'd given up all pretences and begun wearing it naked-- gnarled and pink as it was.

Of course people asked about it. It had become something of a joke among Kylo's regulars, that each time a new viewer asked that tasteless question, Kylo would give a different explanation. Hux had never heard the same one twice. Once, it had been a motorcycle accident. Another time, he'd said someone had taken a bottle to him after he'd started a bar fight. Whatever the reason, it always sounded as though Kylo himself had been reckless. He never gave an excuse that put the blame squarely on someone else's shoulders. Hux liked that about him. He liked Kylo's attitude in that it made him want to put the man in his place, made him want to wipe that petulant look off his face.

He clicked around aimlessly for a few minutes, waiting for 10PM and pretending he hadn't inadvertently conditioned his body to respond to the hour. Kylo's show was 3 nights a week at 10:00 or thereabouts, and whenever he cancelled, it forced Hux to deal with his Pavlovian erection unaided. Hux checked the clock again, feeling his heart speed, his breath grow heavy. At 9:59 he licked his lips and clicked to the main page, waiting for Kylo's picture to appear with the words "online now". Should he wait, once the show started, so as not to appear too eager?

No, this wasn't courting. This was paying a man to do his job, and it was performing a function. He entered the chat and waited for the video stream to load.

Kylo started off dressed entirely in black: sinfully tight jeans with a bit of shine to them, a tank top with armholes so large it barely qualified as a shirt, and in direct opposition to the shirt that nearly showed his nipples, a black knit beanie out of which his black curls spilled. He wore a bit of eyeliner, and leaned back on his bed as he stared balefully at the camera, sucking almost absentmindedly on his lower lip so when he released it it was shiny and pink, nearly the same colour as his scar.

"Hello everyone," he greeted, always oddly formal. "I got a new tattoo. It's still healing, but I'll do one dare for the first person who can guess where it is."

Immediately the chat lit up with suggestions, most people guessing (or perhaps hoping) the new ink was on Kylo's arse. Hux surveyed him, the way he was sitting, and the tattoos he already knew the man to have.

He typed in his guess, and watched Kylo's lips quirk.

"Hi, RedScare34," Kylo greeted, and Hux never knew how to react to being addressed by his username. "You're back. Also, you're right. It is on the back of my left thigh. Bonus points for being so specific."

Hux remembered belatedly that Kylo had promised a dare, and his fingers hovered over the keys. Other users made attempts to convince him of one thing or another, but he ignored them.

RedScare34: Did you receive the package I sent you?

Kylo glanced at the screen momentarily before staring into the webcam again. "RedScare34 sent me a gift last week. For the rest of you my P.O. Box is in my bio. Don't send any perishables." His voice was deep and almost monotone, but it would lilt up in odd places. Definitely a memorable voice, Hux thought. He wondered if this was his favourite of the man's features, or if it was his unique looks, his chiseled abs, or even the fact that his P.O. Box address was in West Hollywood, not even a half hour’s drive from his home, and he hadn't really needed to post the gift he'd sent. Maybe his favourite feature was Kylo's frankly enormous cock. He wasn't sure.

"Do you want to see what it is?" Kylo asked his viewers, but his tone was not teasing. He reached offscreen and rummaged, coming up with the glossy white box minus its brown packing paper. It had been a bold purchase, inspired when Kylo had hosted an 'ask me anything' and had been probed at length about his lack of experience with BDSM, and his interest in trying more than just cheap fuzzy handcuffs.

Kylo opened the box and showed the soft leather strap inside, nestled in crepe paper and foam. It was about an inch wide, matte black, and fitted with an attractive silver buckle.

"I thought it was a wrist cuff until I saw the card," he commented, lifting the shop's own product description from out of the box. "'This soft garment-leather cock strap is going to look and feel amazing wrapped snug around your meat.’” His eyes flicked up from the card, staring into the camera with an oddly challenging expression. “‘The adjustable top strap lets you tighten down as much as you want without sacrificing look or comfort. This cock strap is designed with eight graduated sizes of adjustment, to accommodate even our most well-endowed of customers. You may also enjoy the 'Snap To It!' 5-snap easy removal cock strap, or the 'How's It Hangin' leather oxballs toy. Please visit www.sluttinthehutt.com.'" Kylo read off. "So I suppose your dare has something to do with this, RedScare34?" He pinched the leather between his thumb and forefinger and dangled it for the camera.

RedScare34: Yes. When you are naked, I would like for you to put that on, and keep it on until I say you can remove it.

He'd never tried anything like this with Kylo, and he wasn't sure what the reaction would be. He’d only ever participated in the chat, asking and answering questions, and had never tried to exert any form of control— considering he was only one among a good number of regular viewers, and countless one-off viewers besides. It could be the man would reject the idea completely and ask his moderator, a no-nonsense user by the name of Phasmagorica, to have Hux kicked from the chat, or permanently banned.

Running the supple leather between his fingers, Kylo's brows jumped just once as he gazed steadily into the lens of his webcam.

"Well," he said. "You heard the man. I haven't hit any of tonight’s credit milestones yet, so if you want to see me tighten this around my cock, keep those credits rolling in." Hux had recently purchased more credits (the site's virtual currency) and was feeling flush. He made a generous payment to start the night, and received another nod from Kylo in response. As the credits stacked up, Kylo removed his clothing article by article, commenting on things as they occurred.

Another user asked if he would like some nipple clamps to go with the cock strap, and Kylo, down to his shorts and stroking himself to hardness through the stretchy black fabric bit his plush lower lip. Hux watched him trail one hand up his chest, over a few other nasty scars, to roll and twist one nipple in his fingers.

"Mm," he grunted quietly, and Hux's cock twitched untouched in his trousers. "Maybe. I've never thought about it. Do you want to be the one to introduce them to me?" Hux never got enough of the way he seemed so... strangely earnest when he asked questions of his viewers. Hux had seen other cam shows, and quickly tired of the way the presenters attempted to pitch their voices sultry or seductive. It was all so insincere, and as a lawyer he got enough insincerity at work. He didn't need it in his home as well. Hux wished he'd been the one to suggest the clamps.

He watched as Kylo thoroughly explored his own nipples, testing out soft touches and rough tugs, face contorting with each new sensation. The scar pulled when Kylo's mouth stretched around a moan, and Hux found himself perversely drawn to it not for the first time.

/That must have hurt tremendously,/ he wanted to say. He didn't. /Do you still have sensation there?/ he wanted to ask. He kept his fingers still.

The credit counter rolled over, with another push from Hux, and finally, Kylo began shoving his boxer briefs down his trim hips and over his muscular thighs. Hux spared himself a short squeeze through his trousers. He always tried to delay, make it last, but the sight of Kylo's cock bobbing free, hard and flushed and slicking down the hair on his lower belly, made him ache. He wanted to secure that strap around Kylo's cock and balls himself, and suck him until he couldn't stand it. A perverse, irrational part of his mind had suggested he stake out Kylo's post office, to see him when he picked up Hux's parcel from his P.O. Box. Obviously, Hux knew this would be insane, stalkeresque behaviour, and he hadn't given in to the impulse, but the desire was still there, to see Kylo 'in real life', without whatever trappings he put on for his show.

He knew he wasn't alone. Half of the chat at any given time was users telling Kylo what kind of depravities they'd like to commit with him, if they were together. Thus far Hux had managed to refrain from this tasteless kind of talk, if only just barely.

Kylo rolled over, reaching for his lube and presenting his ass to the camera. It also gave his viewers a chance to see his new tattoo: a smooth, simple line drawing of blindfolded Justice from behind, scales held aloft in her right hand and fingers of the left crossed behind her back. It stretched from just under his arse to a little above mid-thigh, and Hux had to wonder how much it had hurt. That strip of skin where arse meets thigh is among the most painful for a spanking. Hux wondered if that applied to tattoos, at all. It was peeling a little, and there was a little blip of conversation about it in the chat. When Kylo turned back around and read the messages, he gave a rueful sort of look and said, "It itches like hell but all I can do is slather it in Aquaphor. Makes my ass slippery like I've just been fucked between the thighs."

He leaned back on his pillows again, and spread his legs, putting everything on display. His hole, his tattoos, his scars, his cock, all of it offered up to the camera. Hux gave in and unzipped his trousers, reaching into his shorts to tug his cock free.

"RedScare34," Kylo called, and Hux's shoulders drew up. It felt as if Kylo somehow knew he’d just pulled his dick out, and was chiding him for it. "I've never used one of these." He had the cock strap in his hands again, and was trailing the buttery leather down the valleys of his abs. "Tell me how to use it."

No begging. No asking. Kylo reversed the power roles in Hux's suggestion so easily, and Hux felt hot all over. He struggled to type with one hand while the other gripped his cock punishingly tight.

RedScare34: Sling it under your balls where they meet your body, and then loop it so the thinner top strap doesn't come into direct contact with your skin. Tighten the buckle about as much as you can stand, and wait.

"Wait for what?" Kylo asked, though he was already sitting up and fiddling with the strap to secure it in place, tight enough to draw his cock and balls up and away from his body.

RedScare34: Wait until you can't any longer.

"Oh, fuck..." Kylo moaned, leaning back across the bed, tucking a few fingers into his mouth and nearly making Hux come into his fist right there. Kylo's other hand with its chipped black nail varnish strayed to his inner thigh and gripped there. It looked like he was restraining himself from stroking his cock, nails biting into his quadricep as he writhed on his bed.

New viewers arrived, and the chat moved so fast Hux could hardly follow, but it didn't matter. His eyes were glued to the screen as he wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock, simulating the way Kylo's was held by the strap. He swallowed thickly.

"Fuck this is..." Kylo's voice was ragged, and Hux realised he'd done that, influenced him remotely, coaxed the man into becoming this desperate, squirming mess. He dragged his fist up his cock, imagining he was there with Kylo, sitting in a chair across the room from him, watching him, encouraging him, asking him how it felt.

"It's intense," Kylo said, as if answering Hux's thoughts. "I'm so hard and I want to touch myself, but I want to know how long I can hold out," he went on. The chat scrolled like mad, and the credit counter jumped when Kylo's fingers strayed to his tight, pink bollocks, hand shaking. "I haven't jacked off since my last show," he confessed. "Gonna come so much..."

/Please,/ Hux thought.

"I can't, the temptation is too--!" Kylo choked out, large fist finally wrapping around his shaft and pulling his cock, milking a few ecstatic drops from his tip. "So sensitive. Would love to fuck someone with this strap keeping me hard. Bet it would feel so good..." He sucked his fingers again and lifted his balls with the other hand so he could slip his spit-slick fingers down and tease his hole. He stroked himself slowly, and Hux tried to match his pace, torturous as it was.

"I'm still watching the chat, you know," he said. "You have to tell me when."

Hux took a steadying breath. For a mostly anonymous interaction with a sex worker over the internet, this felt incredibly intimate. He'd lost track of the chat. Other users seemed to be encouraging Kylo to remove the strap, but Kylo shook his head, his curls fluttering attractively with the motion.

"I keep my promises," he whispered. Hux knew Kylo was waiting for his command, as stated in the dare, and he warred with competing urges. On the one hand, he could tell Kylo to unbuckle the strap, see how fast the man could come. He really was spectacular mid-orgasm, and Hux craved that view of his face. But part of him wanted to taunt Kylo a little, even if perhaps it wasn't his right. Not really. If this were a private session, and he alone were paying for Kylo's time, then perhaps he could...

RedScare34: Is it too much already?

That was neutral enough, he thought. Kylo huffed a little sound through his nose, thumb rubbing through his slit and spreading the wetness there.

"I know," Kylo answered. "Feel like I'm going to come really fast. This thing just really turns me on."

He stroked his fingertips over the leather, slipped them under the top strap and tugged, changing his position slightly. The strap hugged his cock and balls, pressed into his scrotum as he pulled, and he sucked in a harsh breath and rubbed his knuckles along his shaft. Hux licked his lips. Christ but he wanted to touch Kylo, wanted to fit his mouth into all the creases of his body. Some small part of him told him that would be a bad idea, he didn't know this man at all, but another, more vocal part of him, the part that wanted to come, the part that squeezed lube over his fingers and kept his hand stroking his cock hard and fast wanted it, wanted everything Kylo could give him. He wanted to slick his fingers and open Kylo up slowly-- Kylo always did it so fast when he fucked himself open, eager to push a toy inside. He wanted to make the man drip with lube and precome, wanted to make him insensate and ravenous, wanted to hear his name on those beautiful lips.

RedScare34: now

His typography suffered with how hard his hips were bucking up into the tunnel of his fist. He tightened his grip, imagining the clenching heat of Kylo's ass wrapped tight around him, or even, even Kylo fucking into him with short, rough strokes, making it ache, wearing that strap and making it last. He groaned under his breath and watched Kylo finally unfasten the buckle, sweaty fingers fumbling with the leather until it dropped off the edge of the bed. Kylo paid it no mind. He was too busy slipping a lubed fist around himself, muttering to the camera about how he couldn't believe how sensitive he was, how good it felt, how he couldn't wait to try it again.

"Maybe next time I'll last longer," he said. "I'd like that," he rasped, fingers never slowing in their clip around his cock. His balls visibly hitched, and Hux bit his lip. If he timed this right--

"Oh, /fuck!/" Kylo barked, eyes fluttering shut, head craning back, hips bucking up and pushing his cock into the tunnel of his fist. His mouth fell open and he grunted loudly, come spilling over his fingers in thick spurts. Hux shivered and coiled in on himself.

He bit down on the sounds threatening to rise up out of him. Even though he lived alone, it was a long-held habit, and part of him worried his neighbours would hear him moaning while watching an amateur pornographer come all over his belly on camera. He was about to do the same himself, in front of his computer screen, and he knew without looking at the chat that he was not alone, but he didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about any of the other strangers stroking out a quick and dirty one to Kylo's orgasmic arch and groan. He wanted to pretend that this was just for him, that he could have Kylo all to himself. He stroked harder, teeth digging painfully into his lip, and imagined Kylo kissing him roughly, savaging his mouth with teeth and tongue. He imagined Kylo's harsh breath in his ear, instead of in his headphones, his body warm and sweating on Hux's sheets instead of on his screen. He wanted to know what the man smelled like, tasted like, and that thought alone was humiliating and pushed him shaking over the edge. His free hand gripped his computer chair as he pulled the orgasm out of himself, come running down his wrist and knuckles to splatter on his shorts. His breath shuddered and he forced his eyes open, just to watch Kylo running his long fingers lazily through the cooling release on his stomach. Another pulse wracked Hux's body, and another dribble of come fell into his lap.

Finally, he sagged back. His fingers were disgusting, his back itching with sweat, and he desperately needed a shower. He shifted on the towel he'd put down so as not to stain his chair, and watched Kylo swiping haphazardly at himself with a tissue. Other users were signing off one after another with the show more or less over.

Then, Hux noticed something.

Hux was the last one left in the chat. He wiped his hand on his thigh and typed out a quick message, then hesitated to send it. It might be a colossally bad idea. He might sincerely regret it.

"It looks like you're typing a novel, RedScare34," Kylo said lightly, sitting up in bed. So he'd noticed. Now Hux was trapped. He'd have to say something. He took a deep breath, and hit Enter.

RedScare34: What are your rates for private chats?

Something like a smile flickered briefly across Kylo's face, unless Hux was imagining it.

"Four hundred credits," he replied easily.

It was steep, but Hux knew it was less than one might pay for, say, a private session at a BDSM club. He looked around his bedroom, his tasteful modern furniture purchased as a set with little regard for personal touches aside from his books, his computer desk, his leather briefcase and slim tablet on its charger. What the hell else would he spend the money on?

RedScare34: Done. When are you available?

"Tuesday after eight."

Hux liked that Kylo didn't have to think about it; just gave his answer quickly and efficiently. What he'd give for all of his interactions to be that simple. It meant he'd be waiting for their private session for the next four days, but he could deal with that. He was an adult, and  knew how to be patient. Perhaps Kylo had planned it that way on purpose. Hux allowed himself a grin at that thought, and wrote back quickly.

RedScare34: Good. Will you send me an invite link?

"No. The site's not very good for that. Just write down my Skype and you can 'tip' me the amount on my page. Upfront."

Hux stalled a moment. Skype? He hadn't counted on giving out personal information. He wasn't even certain he should show Kylo his face.

"Is there a problem?" Kylo asked, and there was a dangerous tone to his voice. Hux refused to be intimidated.

RedScare34: No. Tell me.

"It's Nights with an N, not a K, dot-of-dot-Ren, that's R-E-N, and don't type that in the chat. I don't want everyone having it."

Stupidly, Hux thrilled at the thought of special treatment, although he knew he was paying for the privilege.

RedScare34: Understood. I will see you then, so to speak.

Kylo did smile, then. "Always so formal," he commented. Then, "I'm looking forward to it."

Hux's heart did something funny in his chest and he held his breath, attempting to crush the feeling. Before he had a chance to respond, Kylo bent forward, and the feed went dead.

Hux slumped in his chair, only for a moment. He'd just promised a fair chunk of money to an online sex worker. He'd arranged to video chat with him, even knowing that they lived in the same city, and might one day recognise each other. He had four days in which to stew over this, and suffer.

He marked the time and date on his planner, and set about setting up a new Skype account.


	2. Westside Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux promised and paid for a webcam chat. Is he letting this thing go too far?

Hux spent a restless weekend working from home, answering emails and going over briefs he probably had memorised. He tried to watch television, tried going out and treating himself to a nice dinner, but every time he caught sight of black curly hair, or broad shoulders, or a trim waist and low-slung black jeans, he remembered his 'appointment' and flushed.

He couldn't believe how far he'd let this go, and wondered if he ought to call the whole thing off-- but he suspected his 'tip' of 400 credits was non-refundable. That Kylo had the cheek to ask for that much money for a video chat was really something. Hux could only guess that the man's rent was due, else he was incomparably arrogant. Either way Hux sincerely hoped his investment was worth it. When he felt worst about it he reminded himself it was probably tantamount to charity, supporting Kylo; the man probably didn't have another job, and maybe that money was feeding him for a week.

When he felt best about it, he imagined himself buying Kylo dinner.

By the end of the workday on Tuesday, he was checking his watch so frequently that one of the interns noticed.

"Eager to get out of here, Mr. Hux?"

The other partners had told Mitaka to call them by their given names, but the twitchy man never got the hang of it. Hux had never bothered, and privately preferred Mitaka's style of address. He actually rather liked Mitaka, in a way, because of that, and it was only for that reason that he deigned give him an answer.

"I am. I have an appointment," he explained, willing his foot not to tap.

"Oh," Mitaka replied, aligning things at right angles on the desk he was borrowing for the day, "I thought you might have a hot date." After a beat, he glanced up with wide, nervous eyes, and Hux felt one eyebrow arch before Mitaka was concentrating on his hands again. "Sorry, that was supposed to be a joke. I mean, not that the idea that you'd have a date is a joke, I meant, er, I'm going to clear up the mugs."

He snatched up his chipped and coffee-stained mug and bustled off, asking the rest of the office if they were done with their cups in a hasty exit-route toward the kitchen. He'd make a good PA, perhaps, but never a prosecutor.

Hux took the clearing of crockery as a cue to begin tidying up his desk and shutting down for the evening. By the time he slid his tablet into his briefcase, it was five o' clock exactly, and he snatched up his jacket from its hook, preparing to leave on time for once in his life. With his suit jacket folded carefully over his arm, he approached the kitchen to bid Mitaka a good night, but heard the man talking with someone.

"Why are you still here? Go home, Dopheld, it's past five. Even Hux is gone!"

Ah, that would be Thanisson.

"Goodnight, gentlemen," Hux called from outside the door, startling them both into a moment of silence. He waited, checking his watch again.

"Not like him to leave before six thirty," Thanisson commented, assuming Hux had left.

More quiet. Mitaka switched off the faucet.

"I think he's got a date," Mitaka replied in hushed tones.

Already the subject of scuttlebutt? How dreadful, Hux thought, lips turning down.

"Why, did you /ask/ him?" Thanisson asked, clearly aghast.

"Not on purpose," Mitaka mumbled. “I only meant to ask if he was done with his mug, and—”

"That's you all over, Dopheld: always sticking your neck out."

Hux slipped past the door and was out before five fifteen.

The sun was still baking outside, shining down from a bald blue sky, and Hux flicked open his sunglasses. There was barely even a breeze to ruffle the palm trees as he turned a corner towards the parking garage. Perhaps a shower before his video-call then? His car was mercifully cool, even with the leather seats he thought were patently ridiculous in Los Angeles, and he left the garage in silence.

Turning into Wilshire, he was again struck with the sensation that he was making a terrible mistake. Rush hour traffic left him alone with his thoughts for far too long and he punched the button for the radio to try and occupy his mind. NPR droning on did not help. He was not interested in All Things Considered when he was getting shamefully hot under the collar just thinking about what he was going home to do, and he didn't think he could live with himself if he got an erection whilst waiting to get onto the 405. He merged onto the freeway with caution, gritting his teeth and trying to get ahold of himself. What a farce. What was becoming of him? Pathetic, really.

He sat in traffic and stewed.

At just past six he pulled into his driveway, leaving him two hours to have a light dinner, pour himself a drink, and attempt to quell that disgusted feeling in the pit of his stomach by staring out the window at Pacific Palisades and Santa Monica Bay.

At half past seven, he began the undignified practice of pacing, walking back and forth over the area rug in the front room, hearing the hardwood creak underneath it. Even in the privacy of his own home, he was embarrassed to be so affected as this, and he was reminded, each time he glanced at the clock on the DVR and found only a minute had passed, that he was being utterly pitiful.

At a quarter to eight, he wondered if he should make the video call in his bedroom, or out here? He’d made something of an effort to decorate the living room, at the very least, though he didn’t frequently have guests. There was some art on the walls, gifts, mostly, from friends at Uni or from past clients. Would that make a better impression, on camera? No, even perched as his home was at the edge of a cliff, he couldn't bear to have the windows eyeing him as he... did what he planned to do. He poured himself another scotch.

At three minutes past eight he made his way into his bedroom, tumbler dangling from his fingers. He was slow in setting it on a coaster, slower still in opening his laptop. It wasn't like him, he thought, to show such outward signs of nerves, hesitance. He ground his teeth and squared his shoulders. He'd have to stop all this nonsense before he started the call. With one last appraising look around the room to ensure there was nothing out of place or too personally revealing, he sat at his chair and loaded up Skype.

 While Skype made its electronic percolating sounds, he arranged himself in his chair. Ought he have put down a towel? Kylo probably wouldn't see it, unless he asked Hux to /show/ him, that is, what he was doing.

The call connected and Hux bit his tongue.

"Oh," said Kylo, eyes not quite meeting Hux's as he stared at his computer screen. "I get it. /Red/Scare. I thought you might have been Russian." It was a different view than Hux usually got during Kylo's show. He was much closer to the camera, so Hux could really study the tattoos on his chest and shoulders. He fixated on a classic Americana style one on his left shoulder, with a woman's face in profile and the text, "Go West Young Man" in block text on a banner. One couldn't get much further West than LA.

"Not Russian, no," Hux replied.

"English," Kylo stated, picking up on Hux's accent.

"Northern Irish."

"I see. I like your hair."

It was usually the first thing people commented on, and Hux had decided long ago he was sick of it. But because for some reason he couldn't be at all sensible about anything involving Kylo, he felt his pulse flutter.

"And your freckles. Do they disappear when you blush, or stand out more?" He gestured vaguely at his face. His nails were freshly painted.

Hux grimaced. "I'm not sure I've ever seen myself blush."

"Oh. Turn your lights on. I'll tell you which it is, later."

A moment's hesitation, and Hux stood, crossing the room to turn the lights up.

"Did you just come from work?" Kylo asked as Hux seated himself again.

"Not just."

"And you're comfortable dressed like that?"

"Are you encouraging me to strip?" Hux countered, wondering if that was going to be Kylo's angle.

"Mm, I suppose I don't have to pay /you/ for every article removed," Kylo answered. He didn't smile, and his eyes were so black, reflecting the square of light from his computer and making him appear unearthly. Hux licked his lips and began to unbutton his shirt. He was struck with the sudden fear that Kylo could be recording this, and paused, looking at the man, searching him. He had an excellent sense for other people's ulterior motives; that's what had gotten him so far in life and in the field of law. Kylo's face was... It was. Fixated, was the first word that came to mind. When Kylo looked into the camera Hux almost lost his breath.

"You stopped," Kylo intoned. His plush lips twitched in a slight moue, and Hux wondered, hoped, maybe, that it was a pout. "Are you nervous? You don't have to worry. Stripping on camera is nothing, in front of strangers. Unless, you like to be watched." He smiled like a switchblade: first there was nothing, then there it was, suddenly, cruel and sharp. "I know I do."

"I might have guessed," Hux murmured, opening the next button, and the next.

"Not all camguys do, you know. A lot of the other guys on the site just do it for the money."

"You do it because you love the work?" Hux realised he was being snappish, and that Kylo could end the call at any time. They hadn't agreed on how long his 400 credits bought him. He grit his teeth.

Kylo shrugged his tattooed shoulders. "I'm good at it." It wasn't an excuse. It was a statement of fact. Hux tugged his shirt tails free and undid the remaining buttons. "Undershirt," Kylo commented. "Is it cold in Northern Ireland?"

"I don't live there anymore," Hux dodged. He pulled his undershirt up out of his trousers, and waited.

"You're still more dressed than I am," Kylo pointed out, though this might have been a technicality based on Kylo's preference for barely-there tank tops.

"Had you ever wondered what I look like?" Hux asked suddenly, and he realised it had come out sharper than he'd intended. His fists clenched in his shirt's white cotton.

"Sometimes," Kylo answered. "After you dropped a chunk of change on me for example. I'd wonder if you were compensating for something, or if you just had a fetish for being someone's sugar daddy."

Sugar daddy? What a coarse thing to say. Kylo ran his hand up his chest over his shirt, scratched at his collarbones.

"Take off your undershirt," he urged again. "You bought this time for a reason."

Hux pulled off the shirt from behind his back, dropped it under his desk, smoothed his hair. "How much time do I get?" It was a bit late to be negotiating, but Kylo seemed to be paying more attention to Hux's chest than his words. Hux knew he wasn't the specimen of masculinity that Kylo was. He didn't work out, hadn't spared a thought to physical activity since he did fencing in year twelve. But, Kylo seemed to be studying him, despite all that.

Then, the man looked up, and Hux felt his stomach tighten.

"As long as it takes," Kylo said, one of his curious not-smiles hanging around his lips. Hux felt as though he didn't know what to do with his face-- his emotions were split and he was trying to remain calm, besides.

"Generous," he said at last. He undid his belt and pulled it free of its loops, setting it aside on the desk.

"Reminds me of that strap you gave me," Kylo noted, and Hux considered the leather. He lifted it again in his fingers, allowing its glossy length to slide over his palms.

"This wouldn't be appropriate for anything like that. It wouldn't even be very good for binding one's hands. It doesn't have much give, you see." He looped it over on itself. "It could make a decent flogging tool, in a pinch, if one is without a dragon's tongue, or is fond of improvised tools. I should think it would be a fair bit more painful than a dragon's tongue, though." He struck his palm a few times, experimentally. "These edges might even break skin."

Kylo groaned, quietly, eyes gone half-lidded as he watched Hux toy with the belt. The sound was too much for Hux and he lost control of his tongue.

"Like the sound of that, do you?" he teased, "Did you already know you were a masochist or is this new to you?"

"No, I knew," Kylo admitted, his eyes never leaving the leather sliding sinuously through Hux's fingers. "But I've never, uh, experienced it, with a partner. Not any more than a little biting. Bad quality handcuffs. That's all."

Hux felt goose flesh erupt along his arms at the thought of Kylo baring his long neck to be bitten, adam's apple bobbing, his deep moans as teeth raised bruises all along his throat. He'd love to do it himself. "Good god, Kylo," he grit out, before he could stop himself. "There's so much more to it. I wish I could show you."

Kylo grunted, pinching and rubbing a nipple through his thin shirt. "You a 'top' then?"

"I'm..." Hux bent the belt the other way, fidgeting. "Flexible. I believe one should only dish out what one can take."

"Does that apply to everything?" Kylo glanced down, and the flicker of his tongue between his lips was nothing short of obscene.

"Yes," Hux hissed, fingers tight on the leather.

"Fuck," Kylo answered, before whipping his shirt off. "I'm picturing you, tying me to that bed behind you, putting me in that strap you gave me and then hitting me with your belt, all across my chest, until it bled. Staining your sheets. Then I'd want you to ride me while I was still tied down. I'd want to touch you, but you wouldn't let me. Right?"

Hux gulped loudly. He could feel his cock pressing up against his flies, and he thought he could see Kylo's rising in his jeans as well.

"No," he agreed, "if I had you all to myself I'd want to get my fill, first. Touching every inch of you with my fingers. Then my tongue."

"The cuts on my chest? From the belt?" He was unbuttoning his jeans hastily, yanking the zipper open.

"Every one of them. It would sting, you know, my mouth over your broken skin. But you'd probably like it." He watched as Kylo palmed his cock through his underwear in that way he did. "Do you like the thought of someone licking up your blood? Staining their teeth?"

"I think 'bloody' would be a good look for you."

"I'd kiss the taste of you into your mouth."

"Fuck, yeah," Kylo gasped, squeezing himself through the cloth. "Take off your pants. I want to see."

Emboldened, Hux unbuttoned his slacks, and kicked his socks off under the desk. When he looked at the screen again, Kylo nodded, and, after a moment's pause, Hux pushed his trousers off.

"The underwear too," Kylo prompted. "You've seen my dick, don't you think you should return the favour?"

"You don't even have your jeans off yet," Hux countered.

"Not yet," Kylo replied. "By the way. What should I call you? Can't keep calling you RedScare34 when I'm looking at your cock."

"Er," Hux stammered, tugging at the hem of his boxer-briefs to straighten them out.

"You'd like hearing me moan your real name more than some pseudonym, if that's what you're thinking about."

"It's Hux," he said, straightening.

"That's your name?"

"And 'Kylo' is yours?"

"It may as well be."

"Fair enough," Hux conceded. Kylo didn't seem to believe it was his actual name, which was probably for the best. Why he'd told him at all he-- well, he knew exactly why, and it was precisely the reason that Kylo had given. He'd wanted to hear it so badly, loosed from Kylo's throat, that it made him weak, even foolish. God how he hated that about himself, and the fact that he was still half-hard after all this back and forth only drove the point home.

"Take your jeans off, at least," he commanded, trying to regain some ground. He leaned back in his chair, tried to ensure that his stomach wasn't creased with rolls, tried to look enticing.

Kylo bit his lip as he rolled back on his bed, hooked his thumbs into the waist of his jeans, rolled his hips in that peculiar way one must when taking off skintight trousers. He shuffled them down his long legs and off, kicking them carelessly offscreen.

His underwear was... Very tight and incredibly sheer, and Hux's brows shot up.

"I know," Kylo said, "I never wear these for the show because I feel like, people wouldn't pay as much to see me take them off. But, I like them. They're very smooth." He demonstrated by stroking himself through them, and Hux could just imagine the slick silk-stocking feel of them, the heat beneath. They clung close to every curve, but they were not lacy, not feminine at all, and suddenly Hux wanted to know what Kylo would look like, with lace and ribbons on, with bows at the V of his hips. /What an absolutely rubbish fantasy,/ he immediately chided himself, but his mouth still watered when he saw the shine of precome seeping into the fabric.

"I want to see your dick," Kylo murmured, and it was more than mere suggestion. "I can see the tent in your shorts. I know you don't have to be ashamed. Show me."

Hux was sure that demanding tone would get Kylo into trouble. It got under his skin, gave him warring urges to comply, and to refuse out of spite. But Kylo's long fingers were still splayed over his cock, then pushing down to cup his balls, draw them up, tease behind through that slippery smooth fabric. Hux slid his thumbs in under the elastic of his underwear.

"Just a little push," Kylo all but whispered. "Hux."

He pulled the waistband up and over his cock, and Kylo made the most beautiful sound. The underwear hit the floor and Hux sat naked on his desk chair, cock hard from nothing but watching Kylo, listening to him. Kylo squeezed himself and shuddered out a breath.

"Yours looks like it would be really fun to suck, Hux," he breathed out, and the sullen way he said it should not have made Hux's cock twitch the way it did. "Pretty sure I could get you down my throat. I'd like to try."

Biting down on a moan, Hux resisted the desire to touch himself. Kylo hadn't stopped, but his pace was lazy and he masturbated for a living. Hux wanted to make it last, even as he drank in the way Kylo's lip disappeared behind his teeth when his fingers skirted his crown.

 "Would you consider using the strap again?" Hux asked, when he was sure his voice would not betray him. If he could hold on, he could make this worthwhile. He had faith in his own strength of will.

"Fuck, yeah. You look kind-of angry, and it's turning me on, Hux. I feel like that cold sneer would be great, glaring down at me, making me feel dirty."

"You want," Hux swallowed, "you want to be told how filthy you are, stripping on camera and touching your cock for strangers?"

Kylo snorted through his nose, lips quirking. "The word 'cock' sounds especially rude in your accent. Keep talking." He reached off-camera with one hand, the other still stroking himself languidly. When he straightened up again, he was holding the strap.

"Do you get off on humiliation as well as exhibitionism?" The strap hadn't been far from the bed. Hux wondered if-- "Have you been using that on your own at all? Since Friday I mean."

"Well I looked it up online. Some people wear them loose under their clothes, to tease themselves. I tried it but I barely left my neighbourhood before I was chubbing up in my pants, just at the feel of it. So I had to go home and take it off."

"Did you stroke off, then?"

"Yeah," Kylo closed his eyes and leaned back on his bed, finally reaching under the waistband of those sheer shorts so Hux could see everything Kylo's hand did, his knuckles pressing up against the fabric, large and beautiful.

"What did you think about?"

Kylo paused, which was unlike him. Even his fingers stilled. He sat up a little, muscles in his abdomen flexing and making Hux grip the arms of his chair to avoid seizing his cock at the sight. "I was thinking about this," Kylo admitted, finally. "What it would be like to meet you. What you'd do and say."

"You're just saying that because I've paid you."

"I'm very serious. I was looking forward to it. I was pretty sure you wouldn't be disgusting."

"Am I not?" Hux glanced down at his straining cock, his sweating thighs.

"How come you haven't touched your dick, yet, Hux? I can tell you want to. You can't pretend it doesn't twitch every time I speak. Is it like this during my show? Is this how you do it? You deny yourself, sitting there, miserable, with your cock hard and useless between your legs, filling your thoughts with the sight of me but doing nothing for yourself?"

Hux almost didn't say anything. "Sometimes. You'll find I have excellent restraint, Kylo."

"Say my name again," Kylo said, pulling harder at his erection. "Are you saying I don't have restraint?"

"You're always so... /hasty/ in getting toys into yourself. /Kylo./" He enunciated the syllables in the name, letting his accent curl around the O.

"I like the pain, of not being stretched all the way. Keeps me in the moment."

"If it didn't hurt, do you think your mind would just, float off?"

Kylo huffed a laugh. "Maybe."

"I think I'd like to find out. Would you take off those pants already?"

"My-- oh. Right. I forget that means underwear where you're from. What do you mean, 'find out'?"

Hux leaned back and his chair creaked. He steepled his fingers, but was sure the effect was ruined by the fact that his cock lay leaking against his belly. "I would like," he paused while Kylo shuffled out of his shorts, "I would like to see if I can get you to slow down. I want to watch every little movement, every change. I want to see you open and easy, so that large black dildo of yours-- you know the one. The glittery one. So it slides into you with no resistance. Finds its way home. What do you think of that?"

"So the strap is to keep me from coming while I open my ass up?" He dangled the leather idly.

"Precisely."

For a moment Kylo considered the strap, it's buckle clinking. "Yeah. Yeah okay, let's try it." Already he was slinging the leather around his base, buckling it. He tested the tightness with a fingertip and looked back up at the screen. "You like the way I look, with this on. Are you imagining something?"

"Yes. A matching set. Manacles, to go with the strap. Perhaps a spreader bar."

"Something I should add to my wish list?"

"No, a spreader bar, in my opinion, is only useful with a partner."

"Hmm," Kylo sighed, Palm rubbing his tip, "I'll keep that in mind." He rolled to the side again, and grabbed a new tube of lube. "One of my followers sent this to me from France. It smells like aloe vera, which is nice but kinda weird because it feels like I'm treating burns... On my dick."

"I... Does it have any antiseptic properties?" Hux was momentarily distracted by the thought of Kylo with burns down his stomach, maybe one on his shaft.

"Doubt it."

"I suppose you've never been burned," Hux put forward. It was unnecessary, but he couldn't just let that mental image go. He wanted to know how much of a masochist Kylo really was, how far into edge territory he was willing to go.

"Sexually? Is that a thing? You mean like, hot wax?"

"That's part of it. It builds from there. Burning match heads pressed into skin, maybe the cherry of a cigarette. It can get more, hm, damaging than that though."

“/Oh/," Kylo gasped, before squeezing lube onto his fingers. "Do you smoke, Hux?"

"Only socially."

"You're a fucking liar. Nobody's /really/ a social smoker." He grabbed a pillow and stuffed it behind his head before spreading his legs wider, slipping his fingers into the crease of his ass.

"Don't put any fingers in yet," Hux commanded, a little affronted. "You can just rub your hole for a while."

Kylo clicked his tongue in annoyance but complied. He gripped his thigh, pulled it up so Hux could see he wasn't cheating, and Hux watched, transfixed, as long fingers with black lacquered nails swirled around and around Kylo's hole, spreading the lube around, making it shiny and wet. "What's your brand? Or do you roll your own?" Kylo asked, though his voice was off, breathy.

Hux sighed, caught. "Nat Shermans," he stated, offhand, concentrating instead on the bob of Kylo's adam's apple.

"Fancy," Kylo commented, hand on his thigh beginning to shake, thighs beginning to tremble. "Hux, come on. Let me just put one finger in."

"No. What about you? Do you smoke?"

"Ngh," Kylo grunted, and for a moment Hux thought that was all the answer he'd get. "Cloves, yeah," he grit out, feet flexing with the effort not to just shove his fingers inside himself.

"Of course you do," Hux retorted. "You may put one finger in," he said, like it was a reward. In a way, it was.

Kylo moaned loud and long when he pushed his middle finger into himself, worked it around, tried to seek out pleasure spots. His nails bit into his thigh, near that new tattoo, stretching the design. "Hux, it's not enough. Why are you doing this to me? Why do you want this?"

"You agreed to it," Hux countered. "Did you like the thought of being burned with a cigarette?"

"Yeah," Kylo admitted immediately. "Bet it would sting like a bitch."

"It does. And it would scar."

"I know plenty about scars," Kylo reminded him. He fucked his finger in and out of himself, trying to get more out of it than was possible. "You talk as if you know what it's like."

"I told you, I only dish out what I can take."

"Show me. Show me the scar."

Hux stood, his cock bobbing with the motion. He turned, presented his back to the camera. There, on his lower back, on the right hand side under where the flesh dimpled a little, was an oblong burn. It was misshapen, and not immediately recognisable, but when he gripped his hip the skin pulled and Kylo groaned.

"Fuck, if I did you doggy-style I could look at that scar and think-- tell me how it happened." He was pulling at his rim with the tip of his finger and Hux spoke automatically.

"I asked for it. It was my birthday. I had that in lieu of candles. Little burns, thirty one of them-- the others healed. This one, she stubbed the cigar right out on me, number thirty-two. She dug her thumb into the open wound and I came screaming, ash in my raw, burned flesh. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Yes, fuck, yes. I'm jealous. I want that. I bet you'd look good doing it, that sneer like I said before. You've got nice lips. You might make a decent camguy, if whatever you do for money doesn't work out."

Hux faced the camera again, settled into his chair gingerly to avoid undue stimulation-- his election had liked that thought, the thought of burning Kylo with the end of a cigarette, too much.

"You may give yourself another finger," he offered, instead. He watched Kylo squirt lube directly onto his fingers where they pushed in, watched him bite his lip at the cold. His index and middle fingers opened him up a little more, but it was still not enough, by the way Kylo's hips hitched into it, the way he began alternating between touching his cock, tweaking a nipple, biting his hand in a desperate bid to get more sensation. Still, Hux avoided touching himself. His cock hurt with it, and there was a trail of precome dribbling down, puddling on his balls, but he grit his teeth and ignored it.

"That's some kinky shit, Hux. You know that, don't you? You're a real freak." He wasn't looking at the camera, his face turned into the pillow as he fingered himself, but Hux could see a hint of a smile, distorted as it was by the twisted scar on that side of his face. Hux bit the inside of his lip to maintain control. "Was she your girlfriend, this woman who burned you? As a /birthday present/ you fucking deviant?"

Hux laughed. "It's far worse than you think, Kylo." He pressed his thighs together, as if that would help. "No. She was a professional Domme."

"Like, a dominatrix?"

"Exactly like that."

"Do you have a thing for paying for it?" He was still pushing his fingers roughly in and out, and had blushed down to his nipples.

"I do not have an abundance of free time. I find this arrangement convenient."

"Sure," Kylo replied, sounding distastefully as though he didn't believe Hux's stated reasons.

"Spread your fingers and count to ten, slowly."

"What?"

"I said--"

"No, I heard you."

"/Then why did you ask?/" he didn't mean to use his cross-examination voice for that, but Kylo glared down the line of his body at him, even as he began spreading his fingers apart inside of himself, pulling himself open.

"One," Kylo grit out. "Two." He gripped the coverlet with the other hand. "Three. Is this slow enough?"

"You're doing very well," Hux soothed.

"Four," Kylo answered. His painted nails clawed the blanket. "Five. This is really obscene. Six."

"The more you talk the longer it takes," Hux reminded him. Kylo scoffed.

"Sev-en," he drawled, though sweat stood out at the roots of his hair, and his arm strained with the effort of holding still. "Eight." His hand trembled. "Nine." He licked his lips, pressed them together, actually spread his fingers a little wider, and waited, stilled for a long, tense moment, and said, "Ten."

"Good," Hux rasped. "You should be stretched enough for another finger."

Kylo fucked his ring finger into himself alongside the others, groaning low in his throat as he did. His large knuckles breached his stretched hole, and the fingers of his other hand found their way into his mouth. He sucked them sloppily, eyes occasionally fluttering closed as he forced three fingers in and out, and Hux could hear the sound of it, slick and ready. True, Kylo could get the dildo into himself as he was, but as Hux watched Kylo's hips shudder, seeking friction against nothing, he wasn't ready for it to be over.

"Can you get another finger inside?" he asked, hating the way he sounded, but Kylo moaned breathlessly and then his little finger was pushing in, and rough growling sounds tore from Kylo's throat with each drag of his hand. His other hand shot from his mouth to his cock, stroked fast, fist bumping against the strap. After a moment, the stroking stopped and Kylo clawed his own hip with a snarl of frustration.

"Hux!" he barked, face red and feral, showing his teeth, "I want to come, goddammit!" His fingers didn't pause in their relentless clip in and out, and Hux watched Kylo's wrist shake with each new thrust. It was growing impossible to ignore his own need, and he was likely damaging his chair with the force of his nails digging in.

"Tell me something about yourself, Kylo," he said, voice unsteady.

"I just did!" Kylo roared, "I want to come! What more do you need?"

Hux wasn't sure he'd ever seen Kylo like this, not really. But all this pent-up rage, the violent action as Kylo slammed his free fist against the bed, told Hux a few things. First, that he was just as unpredictable as was suggested by those myriad stories about how he'd gotten his facial scar, and second, that, despite all that, he still bent to Hux's will. He could remove the strap, could end the call, could disobey. But, he didn't. So perhaps that said more than anything else.

"Fine then. Fetch your toy," Hux conceded. He watched Kylo lean off-screen, heard him rifling around. When he reappeared on camera, he was holding the dildo Hux had mentioned before. It was a formidable thing, made of black silicone with multicoloured glitter in it, and composed of three intersecting balls in graduated sizes.

"Do you want me to take my fingers out?" Kylo asked, looking demonstratively at the full flat of his hand still shoved up inside of him.

Hux gulped. "Yes, I should think so. Much as I would like to see you stuffed full on both your toy and your hand, that may be a challenge for another day."

"Fuck, that's hot," Kylo gasped, throat clicking as he slowly pulled his fingers out. He wiped them on his discarded underwear and grabbed for his lube. "You ready to watch me fuck myself with this," he brandished the large dildo for the camera, "or do you have more tortures in mind?"

"Oh yes," Hux moaned. "Let me see you take every inch of that enormous dildo." As Kylo lubed the toy up, Hux began carefully skating fingers down his rib cage.

"This is what you were waiting for, is that it?" Kylo rasped, rubbing the tip against his stretched hole. "You wanted to wait until I was fucking this dildo into myself before allowing yourself any relief, so you could imagine it was your cock?" The first ball slipped inside easily, with how stretched he was, and Hux watched hungrily as Kylo's ass widened and closed around its shape. Finally, finally, Hux dropped his hand to his cock and gave his tip a squeeze.

"Goddamn, Hux, it's about fucking time. You sneaky asshole, making me /want/ to see you touch your dick," Kylo growled, pushing the next section into himself. Hux slid his fist down, tight, before reaching for some lube for himself and squirting it into his palm.

"Has anyone ever accused you of being a size queen?" Hux asked through gritted teeth. He forced his hand to move slow, slow up and down his cock, as Kylo held his breath to begin pushing the last and largest section of the dildo in.

"Never," Kylo answered, staring directly into the camera, "but I wouldn't mind if they did." His voice was oddly pinched, and then he let out the breath he'd been holding in one, long, sigh as his ass closed around the final ball, leaving the flared base snug against him. He stilled there for a moment, shifting the dildo just slightly with the tips of his fingers to rub himself from the inside.

"Do you know," Hux breathed, "that's exactly how I would do it. I would work myself into you, and then wait, fully sheathed, until you couldn't stand it anymore and had to beg me to fuck you."

"Ugh, /please/," Kylo groaned. "Yes.  You must have the most incredible stamina. That or self-denial. Regardless, I bet you could fuck me forever." He began pulling the dildo out of himself, ass stretching around each segment. He grunted at the widest part of each ball opened him, and then pushed the whole thing back in roughly, sucking in a harsh breath. "Fuck, /fuck/!" he swore, pulling again, and beginning to fuck himself in desperation. "Hux." He looked blearily down his body to watch Hux on his own screen. "You're all flushed now. It makes your freckles disappear. I said I would tell you." He huffed a harsh breath. "Fuck your fist faster. I want to see you come."

Hux did. His hips began to jolt up into the circle of his hand, and his mouth fell open as he panted, watching Kylo fuck himself hard and fast with a giant silicone toy. His other hand slid from his hips to his collar to the base of his throat. He didn't press down, but he thought about it, thought about Kylo's large hands spanning his neck. "Ah, Kylo, your cock is so hard. Are you close?"

"Yes. I've been on the edge forever. But this strap..." He flickered his fingers from balls to tip, making his cock leak heavily onto his belly.

It was embarrassing how quickly Hux felt himself getting close, after this long, torturous tease. After Kylo had made assumptions as to his endurance. He squeezed himself hard, pulled up slow from the base to the crown, rubbed his thumb through the slit. "Take it off," he commanded, and Kylo moved fast, pulling frantically at the clasp, fucking himself gracelessly, pulling his cock almost as hard as Hux was as soon as the leather fell away.

"Ugh, I want you to fuck me for real," he moaned, eyes closing. "I want it all. I want it hard and rough." The tattoos on his hand were a blur with how fast he pumped his cock, and Hux bit the inside of his lip, toes curling under his chair.

"Yes, Kylo, I want to push your face into the mattress and fuck you until you scream. Pull you up by your hair so you can breathe."

"Oh, /fuck!/" Kylo shouted, slamming the dildo into himself, "I want to come all over your sheets."

"Look at me, Kylo," Hux demanded, and Kylo lifted his head up and blinked at him and licked his lips and watched Hux come. "Fuck, /Kylo!/" Hux hissed, splattering his thighs as he continued to milk every drop out of himself. The hand at his throat dug fingers into the hollow there, and the chair creaked as his body tensed and shook, a long high moan tearing out of him with the last pulses of his climax. He bit his lip and looked at Kylo, pleading with his eyes.

"Oh," Kylo moaned brokenly. "Oh /Hux/." He forced the dildo in, so hard Hux could hear the slap of flesh on flesh, one, two, three more times and then his back arched up off the bed and his jaw dropped and his eyes shut so tight tears gathered. His scar stretched around a strangled shout as Kylo painted his belly and chest, came hard, his thighs shaking. "Hux, fuck, fuck me," he chanted as his cock twitched, spurting more and more weakly. Kylo kept shoving the toy in and out with trembling fingers, until with what sounded like a sob he fell back to the bed, soaked with sweat. 

He pulled the dildo out carelessly, wincing, and dropped it on his lube-covered underwear. He heaved a great sigh. "I bet you really /would/ be a great fuck," he murmured, voice wrecked.

Hux hesitated, but, Kylo had /said/... And his thighs felt numb and weak, and his cock tingled and ached, and he felt like he didn't remember the last time he'd come that hard, so he said, "I suppose, you could find out." He tried to say it in an offhand sort of way, but Kylo, slowly, sat up.

"What do you mean?" He sounded suspicious, his expression threatening to darken even moments after orgasm.

"As it happens we... live in the same city. Well. County." That wasn't what Hux had meant to say, and he hoped it didn't sound as stupid as he thought it had.

"You're joking." Kylo didn't sound like he thought it was funny.

"No," Hux replied, wishing he'd at least waited until he had some clothes on for this discussion. "You have a West Hollywood P.O. Box, so I assume you live in Los Angeles somewhere, at the very least."

"And you?"

"The Westside," Hux answered. His cock was softening and he very badly wanted a shower, but Kylo was staring at him in a way that could only be described as /calculating/.

"So you want to meet," Kylo summed up, leaning forward.

"I'm merely saying it's possible," Hux back-pedalled, hating the way it sounded. Then, like contrariness personified, Kylo grinned.

"Alright. Let's do it. You want me to come to your house like an escort or something?"

Slightly taken aback, Hux barely withheld a click of his tongue. "I wouldn't go that far," he protested. "Not immediately, anyway." Drumming his fingers on his desk he mulled it over. "Perhaps we could meet for lunch?" Lunch was less formal than dinner, with fewer expectations than 'a drink'. Of course he was being ridiculous, taking these considerations in mind when dealing with a sex worker whose expectations would be obvious, but for his own self-image he put forward a suggestion: "There's a nice Mexican restaurant at the end of Melrose. Vegan, interestingly enough. I may be able to call ahead and get us a table for Saturday?"

Kylo scrunched his nose. "Ugh, not vegan. If you want Mexican, we should go here." He leaned forward to type, and Hux found himself studying Kylo's face before Skype made a sound suddenly and startled him. Kylo had sent him an address on Pacific Coast Highway, and it looked like it was pretty far into the South Bay. It would take him at least forty-five minutes to get there, and Kylo even longer if he lived in WeHo. Who in the hell would drive for an hour to get Mexican food?

"I know, you're thinking it's really out of the way. But it's worth it. Trust me. I'll see you there on Saturday, around one o'clock. Let's say another 400 if you want to fuck. Or you could bring cash. Your choice. But I have to go. It's been fun." Without another word, Kylo killed the feed and left Hux sitting there, without any say in the matter.

Obviously, he intended to go, but still he felt manipulated.

He shut his laptop and hunted for some pyjamas, snatching up his tablet and resolving to catch up on emails before bed.

He was asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And please, let me know if there are any tags I've missed!


	3. Warm Leatherette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He must be in deep if he's willing to drive nearly an hour for cheap Mexican food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people have asked me about Hux's accent. He's from Northern Ireland, but he's sort-of adopted the BBC received pronunciation, so he still more or less sounds like the Hux we know.

He'd hoped the office banter would die down if he didn't give it anything to go on, especially after a few days. Unfortunately, he could tell from the calculating looks he got from Thanisson, as well as Unamo (whom Thanisson must have told) that they were desperate to know if Mitaka's hypothesis was correct. It rankled, and felt more like he was in a school yard than a law office, so it was a blessed relief when he got a call from his main client.

Despite the infrequency of the work, he still collected monthly retainer fees from Mr. Snoke, and when there was work it was often gruelling. The man lived in Bel Air, not terribly far from Hux's office, but up a winding road that made Hux incredibly nervous with all of its blind curves and the likelihood of rich teenagers peeling out of their parents' driveways at breakneck speeds. He took the curves perhaps a bit slower than necessary (considering he drove a Mercedes and they were supposedly engineered for this sort of thing), prompting some wanker in an Audi to honk obnoxiously behind him. He gave them the two-fingered salute, and the Audi responded by screeching around him, across a double-yellow, into the oncoming lane, only to cut in front of him and slow down, enough that Hux could see a nasty scrape beneath the Audi's left taillight which would significantly devalue the vehicle, but not slow enough that he could take down the license plate number. Before he could even switch gears the Audi shot off again, around the next curve and out of Hux's sight. Hux blazed with fury but then took several deep, calming breaths. It wouldn't do to go into his meeting with the CEO of First Order, Inc. in such a state. He comforted himself by remembering the Audi’s gouged bumper with its streak of blue paint badly clashing with the custom paint job, and imagining a driver that reckless overturned in a ditch somewhere.

Mr. Snoke hadn't said much over the phone, except that there was a biennial he was considering visiting, and that he wanted Hux's input before he made any decisions. What this meant to Hux was that he'd be spending a great deal of time over the next few days or weeks researching art, artists, and provenance so as to better inform Mr. Snoke before he made a purchase to add to his always growing collection. This sort of work used to be the type of thing Hux loved to do, back when he’d been working on his first degrees in art history and art theory, before he’d changed tacks somewhat and pursued law. Certainly there was a living to be made in art law, and Hux briefly longed for the comparative safety he'd had in that field, as a cyclist ripped around one of those hairpin turns and whizzed by, far too close for comfort. Mr. Snoke was his last remaining client from those days, but also the most valuable, in more ways than one.

He pulled up to the drive and waited for security to open the gate. Truly, the home boasted one of the most spectacular views in Los Angeles, and the design itself was brutally sleek, glass and steel and rectilinear planning. Hux took a moment to admire the lay of the land before he pulled into a spacious garage. Perhaps one day he would own a home like this. His was similar in that classic Californian indoor/outdoor aesthetic, the audacious proliferation of glass despite the proximity of a major fault line, the architecture a holdover from the Mid-Century Modern era which had never quite left SoCal. But Mr. Snoke's property was a veritable estate, with broad lawns, tasteful landscaping, and an infinity pool Hux was certain the old man never even used. Once, Mr. Snoke had insisted Hux meet him 'in the garden', and Hux had been led by house staff to something that looked like an even /more/ Japanese-inspired Giverny, complete with combed Zen garden, and a fire pit in what Hux mentally referred to as a 'post-modern gazebo'. If and when he bought a property like this one, Hux thought he could do without those features.

Stepping up from the garage into something resembling an East Coast mudroom, Hux briefly considered hanging up his blazer, but decided against it as one of the house staff came to greet him. She wore a crisp black uniform with a well-ironed black apron, as did all of Snoke's staff, and Hux had long wondered if that had been the man's choice or if it was the design of some service that provided him with his help. She wore no logo to indicate the latter, but Hux, to his great disappointment, was unfamiliar with how this kind of household was run. He hadn't grown up, well, /poor/, exactly, and he'd had a series of au pairs in his youth who had looked after him and done the housework... indeed, the young woman rather resembled one or more of them, Hux thought, tucking his sunglasses into his breast pocket. Had all of his au pairs been blonde? He had a feeling that might have been evidence of his father’s predilection, and banished the thought as the woman bowed discreetly and left him at an open door. Mr. Snoke's property was entirely different from anything out of Hux's youth, as evidenced by the large library he was led into before the-- maid? Was that the correct, modern word?-- bowed silently and left him.

Mr. Snoke, whose first name Hux knew, obviously, but had not been invited to use, sat in a large, wide, squarish armchair with a low back. He seemed to be considering the view from the one wholly glass wall in the room, where the other three were lined with books on an eclectic assortment of subjects. Part of Hux resented the damage being done to the books by that much direct sunlight, but he knew it wasn't his business to say. Instead, he turned his attention to the other chair, an exact match for Mr. Snoke's, and placed on the other side of an Eero Saarinen table. A port decanter and two glasses sat atop the table's low surface, and it seemed Mr. Snoke had already allowed himself a glass. As Hux approached, the old man finally turned to regard Hux over his shoulder.

“Sit, sit,” the man offered slowly, gesturing to the other chair, and pouring Hux a glass of port without asking. Despite his age and the stiffness of his movements, Mr. Snoke never spilled a drop. Hux took the glass with a nod of thanks, and settled into the other chair.

“All I can say is,” Mr. Snoke began, pouring another glass of port, “Thank God for Skype.”

Hux felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he immediately recalled what he’d most recently used the software to do, but Snoke went on:

“Auction houses allowing Skype bids has done wonders for my collection, you know. I am getting on in years,” he claimed, as though he didn’t still run a Fortune 500 company, as though he hadn’t refused retirement for nearly two decades. “And I can’t be expected to jet from biennale to biennale anymore.” His voice was a mere croak, but Hux knew that this man would continue to exert his influence until his dying day. Hux thought that should he, himself, ever be in a position such as Snoke’s, he would do the same.

Of course, Snoke had had something of a head-start on Hux. Where Hux’s family had been middle-class and military, Snoke was born into money, and had built a vast empire with it. Trying not to let his resentment get the best of him, Hux took advantage of what little he could get of this success, by working hard to keep Snoke’s account, and taking another sip of what was likely very expensive port.

“But art is recession-proof,” Snoke declared emphatically, his wizened fingers clenching into a fist as Hux shook himself from his reverie, “And I’ll not have everything I’ve built brought down by these /politicians/—” he wheezed, and coughed, steadied himself with another drink. Every time this happened, Hux briefly worried the man would suffer a fatal heart attack and Hux would be left sitting there, the only witness. “Nevermind,” Snoke whispered, before clearing his throat loudly. “I want you to see what you can find out about the Whitney Biennial. And while we’re on the subject, have you worked out the customs issues on those pieces I purchased from the Summer Exhibition over at the Royal Academy?”

Hux had, though technically a great deal of this wasn’t strictly speaking his job. Regardless, he valued Snoke’s account too much to say so. He opened his briefcase and brought out some customs forms for Snoke to sign, which Hux would then DHL back to the customs broker he’d contacted for this importation. They went over brass tacks some more, before the conversation shifted from importation taxes to tax in general, and Hux watched Snoke become incensed again.

“Those idiots in Washington,” he muttered, knuckles turning white on the arm of his chair. “Every year they try to squeeze more out of us.” By ‘us’, Hux understood the man to mean ‘the wealthy’. “I’ve worked all my life to get where I am. I daresay some of these liberals in Congress are nothing but communists—” The old man straightened in his chair, and fixed Hux with a watery-eyed stare. "And that Leia Organa-Solo is the worst of the bunch, always going on about stricter taxation for those above a certain income, talking about offshore tax havens on the news..." His glass trembled in his papery hand. "As if she wasn't the highest-paid person in Congress. Do you know, the Speaker of the House makes only about six and a half thousand dollars less per annum than the Vice President of the United States?"

"I didn't," Hux replied. He'd seen a lot of Congresswoman Organa-Solo in the news of late, talking about the threat posed by corporate interests buying government votes. People often made fun of her, didn't take her seriously, said she was full of 'wide-eyed hippie ideals' because she was from California. Indeed, Hux wondered if perhaps Mr. Snoke was this annoyed with her because she was the California State Representative for the 33rd district, which, as it happened, encompassed Bel Air. In fact, she was Hux's state representative as well.

"I can see how that would be distressing, sir," Hux stated, hoping he kept his face neutral. While her proposed legislation wouldn't affect him at his current income, America was supposedly the 'land of opportunity'. And, she was quite vociferous on the issue of tax breaks offered by previous cabinets, for someone pulling in six figures. Even if not for all that, Hux would certainly recognise her for her outlandish hairstyles-- a preference as well-known in the American press as Teresa May's shoes back home in the U.K.

"I don't see why they don't just call it what it is," Snoke spat, and Hux paused with his glass nearly all the way to his lips.

"What's that, sir?"

"A war on the rich," Snoke replied, venomously, before draining his glass and setting it down with such a sense of finality, Hux wondered if he ought to leave. Would it be rude not to finish his wine? "Luckily," the old man said, voice suddenly saccharine, "there are still some people in Congress with some sense..." Hux didn't quite catch his meaning, and so made a noncommittal noise in response. Snoke smiled, and it was always more of a smirk, one half of his face less than responsive after a stroke some years back. Hux nodded, and finished his port.

On his way back to the office, he mentally went over what contacts he might have in New York who could give him an in at the Whitney. The competition between buyers and artists alike to get in first was always steep and intense, and Hux wondered if he'd have to fly cross-country for this. Could he be away for five days or so without all of his other responsibilities going to hell?

He thought about leaving the office to its own devices, remembered the questioning glances from Thanisson and Unamo, and grimaced. Then, even worse, he realised he was pulling up to a familiar bumper as he approached an intersection near the Bel Air gate. That fucking black Audi R8 with custom red detailing, windows too tinted to be street legal, and a huge, angry scrape under the left taillight. The long, cerulean streak in the damage could only be where the driver had traded paint with the owner of the other car, and Hux wondered if it was a hit-and-run, a parking lot collision, or what. He flicked his high beams on and got a loud, sharp, honk in response, before grinning to himself and pulling around the car to turn right, and cut away from the driver laying on the horn at the sight of him. Soon he was far enough away that the radio drowned it out.

By the time he got back to Beverly Hills, it was past five already, so he just turned onto Wilshire to go home. He could do without the interns whispering, and he might as well get started on his research for Mr. Snoke, especially since he had /plans/ over the weekend.

Was it just lunch? He wasn't sure. Kylo had said it was another 400 credit tip if he wanted sex, but what if he didn't? Well, obviously he /did/, but suppose they didn't get that far? Did he still pay? He assumed at the very least he'd be paying for the food, but when he'd looked it up, the establishment Kylo had insisted upon was barely more than a greasy spoon. It didn't even have indoor seating. Online reviews said the place was a South Bay staple, as iconic in the Beach Cities as palm trees and bikini-clad rollerbladers, but was that really enough to warrant an hour of travel? And if Kylo more or less expected a free meal out of it, why wasn't he taking them to someplace more, well, /expensive/? It wasn't as though he was at all shy about letting Hux spend money on him. Altogether Hux thought it was very odd, and he didn't very much like the uncertainty.

Furthermore, his digging on the Whitney was turning up nothing due to all of their recent construction, and the confusion of several years ago over whether or not there would continue to /be/ a biennial. By Friday afternoon, he'd only managed a warm lead with someone working in the art handling team at the museum, but with the time difference he doubted he'd get another response back before Monday. So, he sighed and threw in the towel, picking up his jacket and briefcase at only four thirty. He knew this would probably cause more speculation among the busybodies but resolved to ignore it as he fished for his keys.

At home he fidgeted, straightening things and tidying up just to kill the time. If he did ask Kylo for sex, would they come back here? He shuddered, thinking about a stranger on the internet knowing where he lived. Maybe that was why Kylo had insisted upon meeting so far away from where he presumably called home: to keep Hux away from his personal life. But, could he find a hotel at short notice? Where would they go? Perhaps Kylo had a plan, a usual go-to in this sort of situation. The thought pulled a grimace across Hux's face and he fought it. It was ridiculous to get jealous of the other clients of a sex worker. He knew this. He knew that sex was Kylo's job, just as much as law was his, and he knew that buying Kylo's time did not entitle him to anything else. Feeling his lip twitch he put the kettle on and sat down in front of a DVD of Top Gear with a bag of frosted animal crackers and a cup of decaf tea. He went to bed when he realised he'd accidentally eaten the whole bag, and his cold half-cup of embarrassingly milky tea was full of an unpleasant soggy biscuit and melted frosting sludge.

Saturday was gruellingly hot. Hux got dressed while listening to the news and momentarily panicked over sweat stains accumulating on the way to meet Kylo, with highs in the upper 80s to low 90s along the coast and cracking triple digits in the Inland Empire. Should he wear his undershirt and hang up his button-down for the trip, like he was meeting a client? What if Kylo got there first and saw him changing clothes? Would it look like he was trying too hard? Should he wear shorts? Would that be expected if he was meeting a man at a place with concrete tables? Perhaps he would be over-dressed in his usual attire, so few blocks from the water, in Redondo Beach. He was so rarely over there. Maybe shorts, a tee, and an unbuttoned short-sleeved shirt on top, then?

By the time he reached this point in his internal monologue, he'd taken four shirts from his closet and laid them across the bed, and it was already past eleven. Mentally he berated himself for wasting so much time, as he rolled the cuffs of his shorts up once, and cleaned his sunglasses.

/Would Mexican food be too messy?/ he thought as he opened his garage door. Would it be unattractive to eat? He shook his head, and made sure he had the address entered into his GPS. He was leaving a little early, but he rationalised it by reminding himself he'd miss the lunchtime traffic, and maybe scope out a possible hotel.

He was absolutely boiling by the time he pulled into the small parking lot next to the old A-frame building, and there was virtually no shade to be had, it being nearly noon. He backed into a space next to an old Camaro, as far from it as he could without being outside the lines, and peeled himself out of the driver's seat.

The environs were... /quaint/, was the word Hux chose, with morning glory curling around the cinder block walls enclosing the car park, a fading yellow awning covering a cluster of tables, and a pair of sandy young men just in from the waves, sitting in swimsuits with their paper bags and plastic forks on a narrow strip of grass by the highway. If he had to guess he would say the Camaro likely belonged to one of them, considering the Black Flag and Bash the Fasc stickers on the bumper. They even had a dog with them: an Australian cattle dog with heterochromia and an orange bandana. All very... quaint.

The kitchen seemed to take up the entirety of the interior of the A-frame, and he had to admit it smelled good. Authentic. He checked his watch. He wasn't scheduled to meet Kylo for another 55 minutes. Well, no time like the present, he thought, locking his car and walking out of the car park, past a significantly less popular burger stand and a towering pink oleander bush. As soon as he was out of earshot of other people, he held down the home button on his phone and prompted Siri, "Hotels near me".

The algorithm pulled up a few results and he glanced over them while walking somewhat aimlessly west. He remembered Kylo's 'Go West Young Man' tattoo and felt his heart do something acrobatic and uncalled for. Before too long, he'd crossed Esplanade and was staring at the Pacific Ocean.

The beach was predictably full for lunchtime on a summer Saturday. Children climbed the slight slope towards the street to pick iceplant and break open the sticky leaves. The cry of seagulls pierced the air. An ice cream vendor rang his bell as he pushed his cart along the sandy pavement, and a light breeze cut over the waves to muss Hux's hair. He pushed his sunglasses up and wondered if he was earning new freckles just standing there.

There was a hotel further down Esplanade, and TripAdvisor claimed there were still three rooms available for the night. Well, perhaps the whole night was a little optimistic. Still, even if Kylo left, he might stay if the room was nice enough. He held down the home button again but just as he was asking Siri about parking, a blue Toyota with fairly obvious after-market modifications screamed past him, obliterating what he'd said and prompting Siri to state, "Sorry, I didn't get that."

Hux took a deep breath, annoyed that a city which couldn't get anywhere without a car was full of such shit drivers, and tried again. Surely, the hotel would have a valet?

Was it too presumptuous to pre-book the hotel?

/No,/ he reminded himself. Kylo had offered, for an extra four hundred credits, or, alternatively, five hundred and eight dollars cash. He'd calculated the exact amount, plus a generous tip, again amazed at the evil genius of the site's virtual currency. One 'credit' could be purchased for $1.27, £0.95, or €1.13, meaning that a majority of people would round the numbers and lose track of how much money they actually spent on the site. Dastardly, but effective. Hux admired the business savvy of whoever thought that up, but still, pointedly regulated his spending. Well, present circumstances excluded, he thought as he phoned the hotel from a bench overlooking the beach, and reserved a room with a marina view. He could afford to treat Kylo to something nice, and if Kylo wouldn't accept five-star dining then at least Hux could indulge him with the hotel.

When he wandered back to the restaurant at ten 'til one, after sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean for a half hour, the two young men were still there, though the sun had dried their hair and swim trunks. The tan one brushed sand from the darker one's lower back with a roguish grin. The other allowed it while pretending to be absorbed with wiggling a stem of grass in the dog's face.

/Good luck,/ Hux thought towards the one with the rough stubble on his chin. He ordered an horchata, picked a table to wait for Kylo, and pretended not to be watching the two young men fumble through flirtation in the grass. Then, with a low purr, a black Audi R8 with red detailing and overly-tinted windows slid into the car park, pulled a swift three-point turn, and backed into the space next to Hux's own black Mercedes C-Class. He didn't need to see the rear end to know it would have a deep gouge in the paint under the left tail light. Before he had time to worry that he had an extremely ostentatious stalker, the driver's side door opened, and Kylo stepped out.

Hux’s eyebrows shot up and all he could think was that someone as tall as Kylo getting out of a car that low looked a bit like a lawn chair unfolding. He didn't seem to have noticed Hux yet, as he locked his car and pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, inadvertently pinning his curls back away from his face. Something about him looked different in the daylight, more solid. Lit by the glow of a computer screen he always looked like he was cut from a moonbeam. Here, tucking his keys into the pocket of his spray-on jeans, he looked significantly more human. It was unnerving.

When Kylo turned, Hux slowly raised his sweating waxed paper cup in greeting, and then stood. The appearance of this man, whose time he planned to buy, driving a new-model custom Audi, was making him light-headed. Kylo slouched over to him, walking hips first, and stood next to the table, thumbs hooked into his belt loops.

"Hey," he said. His voice was rich and tonal without the interference of microphones and speakers. He was also on time, but it would seem nothing about him was as expected. He was wearing Givenchy ankle boots. What the  fuck.

Hux offered his hand in greeting, suffering an odd sense of vertigo, and Kylo scoffed. "I think we're past that, don't you?"

Hux dropped his hand and fought the urge to shrug like a petulant child. "Are you hungry?" he asked instead, lips feeling numb.

"Starving," Kylo answered, approaching the counter. While he ordered, Hux looked him over from the back. Ratty Coheed and Cambria shirt with a hole in the right shoulder seam, sleeves messily cut off, another pair of slightly shiny super-skinny jeans, a wallet chain, a black bandana shoved into a back pocket, nondescript sunglasses, no watch. Givenchy boots. What the fuck. It was so distracting it took until Kylo turned to him and asked if he knew what he wanted that Hux realised the man had been ordering in Spanish.

Hux squinted at the menu, and realised he should have taken a better look at it earlier.

"Chile relleno?" he tried, and Kylo slumped against the counter, already exasperated.

"As a side or as a meal?"

"Er."

"Do you want beans and rice with that, or just the chile?"

"Beans and rice." He felt it was a little early for Kylo to condescend to him this much. And who the hell did he think he was asking for over five hundred dollars for a video chat when he wore designer boots to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant?! Plus, he was an asshole driver, and Hux had not gotten over that. Was Kylo's work as a professional masturbator really so lucrative as to buy him an Audi?

Kylo took another moment to order, before stepping aside and nodding towards Hux.

"Payment window is there," he said, and even though Hux expected to pay, did Kylo have to be so... /obnoxious/ about it? He forked over the cash and got an order number as Kylo skulked back over to the tables. Hux stood waiting for the food, parsing out their interactions and wondering what this aloofness was about. Was Kylo only beguiling by night? Even if it was all an act to get money, shouldn't he at least keep up the pretence so Hux would pay him for sex?

Maybe he didn't want to. Hux couldn't think of anything specific he'd done in the last 15 minutes that would repulse Kylo that much, but that didn't really mean anything.

The food came in two large paper bags, one of which was already turning translucent with grease, and Hux shuffled over to the table where Kylo sat, absorbed in his phone. But, when Hux set the bags down, Kylo looked up at him with that lopsided grin of his, and what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to act rationally when faced with something like that?

He sat down across from Kylo, hoping the heat in his face didn't show too much in the filtered light under the yellow awning. While Kylo made short work of ripping the greasier of the two bags open to lie flat on the table, Hux studied him: the sinew of his arms, how the tattoos shifted as he moved, everything in clearer detail than he'd seen before. The way his hair curled, slightly sweat-damp, at his neck, the generous pout of his lips, gave him a certain baroque quality that was emphasised in the yellow-tinted shade where they sat. Kylo spread chips out across the flattened paper bag, and each one was a whole tortilla, deep fried. He pulled the lid from a foil container of guacamole, and licked the reflective side. His nail polish was chipped. When Kylo looked at him from under his brows and wrapped his lips around his straw, Hux felt caught, as if he oughtn't have been staring.

"You haven't said much," Kylo accused, breaking out their entrees and chucking Hux’s fork onto his container. "Was that sexy accent an act or what?"

"Of course not!" Hux snapped, and he didn't mean to be so waspish, but Kylo only snorted, so perhaps it didn't matter. Did he really think his accent was sexy?

"How's your chile relleno?" Kylo asked, slicing his enchilada with the edge of his plastic fork. Hux hadn't even started on it.

"You've got a bit of enchilada sauce just there," he said, indicating with his own face a spot above the lip. It wasn't what he'd meant to say, and he couldn't believe this was going so badly already.

"You want to lick it off?" Kylo answered, but before Hux could even splutter an answer, Kylo had scraped it off with a lacquered thumbnail. "So."

Hux looked up from the puddle of melted cheese in his lake of refried beans as Kylo took an ungainly bite of guacamole and rice.

"Did you bring the money? I noticed you hadn't tipped me any extra credits lately."

"I did," Hux replied, thinking this would sound like a drug deal to an outside observer. Well, technically what it had become was prostitution, and that was also illegal. It was a good thing Hux knew a good lawyer, he thought grimly.

"Good," Kylo quipped, pulling off his sunglasses and hanging them from his collar. "Maybe I should've asked for more," he commented. Hux, flabbergasted, could only answer honestly.

"I did think it a little odd, that you'd charge the same for a video chat as for sex," he stated bluntly. "Is that normal for you?"

Kylo shrugged. "I've never agreed to that before. I just threw out a number. I guess part of me didn't even think you'd pay it, the first time. But, you did, so I doubled down, for this."

Hux's heart leapt and he took a deep drink of horchata to get control of himself. He was the first person Kylo had-- he tamped down on that ludicrous feeling and reminded himself he was possibly just the first person who'd agreed to pay such a hefty sum for just a Skype call.

"You should eat your chile before it gets all cold and rubbery," Kylo advised, pushing his food around with a fragment of tortilla chip.

"I didn't know you spoke Spanish," Hux said, and why on earth had he said that? Why /would/ he know that? With his dark hair and eyes, Kylo could easily be from Spain, or at least of Spanish stock.

"What? Oh. Yeah." He stabbed his second enchilada with his plastic fork.

"So you've travelled a lot then?"

An odd look crossed his face and Hux thought maybe he'd crossed a line by prying, but Kylo said. "My... Father. Has this friend who hung around a lot when I was growing up. My father wanted me to call him 'Uncle' Chuy but I guess that was more so my mother wouldn't be pissed off about how he was over all the damn time. Anyway he spoke Spanish to me, and so I learned." He pushed rice into the beans, mixed it with the enchilada sauce. "It's fucking useless though, because it's a weird combination of Norteño and Basque. Even the guy at the counter gave me a weird look."

“Well it’s a good skill to have, especially in this city.”

“God damn, you sound like my dad, saying that.”

Hux cut his chile into slices of approximately equal width, and thought Kylo sounded awfully bitter on that point. "Why have you never agreed to a video chat before?" he asked, to change the subject, but knowing he could be disappointed by the answer.

Kylo shucked up one shoulder in an odd, jerking motion. "You've subscribed for a long time. I've exchanged emails with some of my other regulars but." He stared into his Special C with extra cheese with an intensity unfitting of a view into a foil container. "I don't know. It seemed right, at the time."

Hux's pulse thudded powerfully. "And now?"

Kylo offered him that thin half-grin again. "We'll see."

With that cryptic answer rattling in his mind, Hux concentrated on his food for a moment. He was aware he ought to be making conversation, but, it had been so long since he'd been on a proper date, he hardly knew what to say.

"I brought it, you know," Kylo said, interrupting Hux's self-critical internal monologue. "The strap."

Hux bit his lip and startled. He tasted blood. "Did you," he answered, distracted by the pain, and Kylo threw his fork into his beans.

"What's wrong with you?" Kylo spat, mood turning so fast Hux began to wonder if the man was entirely stable. "You've been weird since I got here. I thought you were totally into me, but like, do you even /want/ to fuck?!" He was loud, and when Hux glanced over, the two men on the grass had turned to stare. Hux tried to ignore them.

"I haven't been 'weird'," he protested, but Kylo had grabbed a napkin and was tearing it viciously to shreds.

"Yes you have!" Kylo insisted. "You've been all, I don't know, aloof! Making stupid bullshit small talk. What the fuck is that about?"

"What was I supposed to do, Kylo, throw you down on this table and rail you right here?" Hux flicked a piece of tortilla chip from the table, drawing a trio of overzealous pigeons. He snarled, then took a deep breath, and tried to calm down.

"See, look, you're doing it right now," Kylo accused. "The second you start showing some passion, you force it down again."

"You certainly purport to know a lot about me."

"I've seen nearly every part of you," Kylo retorted, glaring intently.

"Remarkably, I don't think seeing my cock equates to knowing me as a person." Perhaps this was a mistake, a colossal boondoggle from a financial standpoint and an unfortunate upset in his weekly routine. He'd have to find another camguy to watch, though, it would be hard to find one who matched his tastes as well as Kylo.

"Maybe not. You still want me though." Kylo's smug expression rankled, but Hux didn't want to give him the pleasure of an argument. "I was worried for a moment, but I understand now. This is how you show affection." He gestured vaguely to Hux's person, and leaned in. "Like a little boy on the playground, pulling pigtails." He tweaked one of Hux's ears, and that was the first time he'd actually touched Hux, and his ears had always been sensitive, and his face heated for the umpteenth time.

"I beg your pardon--" Hux snapped, but Kylo leaned back, easily, and Hux could see the lines of his serratus muscles through the open sides of his shirt, and Kylo quirked a brow in challenge.

"Don't worry, it could even be endearing, if you promise it’s all a defence mechanism,” he said, stretching his arms up over his head. His sharp eyes did not bode well for Hux. "See something good?"

"Oh for god's sake," Hux hissed, making a show of turning away, but that just focused his attention on those two men on the grass again. The one with the longish, tousled hair was tickling the other with a blade of grass. What a disgusting display. He turned back to Kylo in resignation.

Kylo had noticed the two men as well, finally, and squinted at them, dubious.

"What?" Hux asked, but Kylo didn't turn, only kept staring at the bizarrely adolescent flirtations of two adult men across the lot.

"I feel like I might know those guys," Kylo said. He didn't sound like he wanted a reunion.

"Small world," Hux commented. To look at them, they could be other camguys, Hux thought. Attractive, well-built... Perhaps a bit /sweet/ for Hux's taste, but--

That blue Toyota from before tore up Pacific Coast Highway and swerved madly into the lot. It reminded of the time Kylo had cut him off in Bel Air, and he rounded on the man to tell him off for that, but Kylo was standing, hastily putting lids on containers and shoving everything into the one intact bag.

"We have to leave. Right the fuck now."

That was all the warning Hux got before Kylo crossed to his car in four long strides. Hux hurried to catch up.

"Kylo, what are you doing?" he called, but all he got out of Kylo was a ferocious look and some emphatic gestures to keep his voice down. Kylo dropped the food bag in the passenger seat and then flung his hand out impatiently.

"Get in, come on! Hurry the fuck up!" he commanded, posture tense, as if ready to strike.

"What?" Hux stood near the burger stand, while Kylo gripped the passenger-side door, white-knuckled. "I'm not getting in your car. You're a terrible driver!"

"No I'm not!"

"You've scratched a brand-new Audi," Hux pointed out. "And you cut me off the other day, in Bel Air."

Kylo made an animal sound through his teeth, tore his sunglasses out of his hair, and almost looked like he would throw them-- maybe even at Hux.

"We don't have time for this," he insisted. "Get in the car or don't. Either way, I'm leaving."

The blue Toyota parked under a tree on the far side of the lot, where shade was just starting to creep onto the asphalt. The driver stepped out, and Hux raised his eyebrows.

"Why are you so afraid of this... /girl?/" She couldn't have been more than five-foot-five, wearing yoga pants and Birkenstocks. A bohemian off-the-shoulder blouse. A bizarre artsy hairstyle. "She looks like she might weigh seven stone, soaking wet."

Kylo flung his sunglasses into the passenger seat next to the greasy bag of half-eaten Mexican food and bared his teeth. Hux didn't think the girl could see Kylo, at the very least, hidden behind the deserted burger stand.

"Who is she?" Hux asked, incautious as Kylo's driving. "An ex-girlfriend?"

"She's a little bitch from fucking /Fresno/," Kylo answered venomously. Hux watched the girl bend over in the car to snatch a worn shoulder bag up from the passenger-side foot well. She was even tinier, with her trousers pulled tight around her thighs.

"Don't you think she'll recognise your car? It's not inconspicuous," Hux mused, while the girl carefully set sun shades in her windshield.

"No, I had a different car when we raced." Kylo stomped around the back of his car, squeezing between the cinder block wall and the damaged rear bumper to avoid being seen by this purportedly terrifying 'Fresno bitch'.

/Raced?/ Hux thought, but before he could ask, Kylo had wrenched open the driver's side door.

"But she'll sure as fuck recognise /this/," Kylo pointed vehemently at his own face. "Because /she's/ the one who put it there."

Suddenly, Hux realised Kylo meant his scar. He approached the driver's side while Kylo lowered himself in.

"What, with a /knife?/" Hux tried to picture the girl, being greeted with sunny smiles by the two men on the grass, being licked and jumped at by the dog in the orange bandana, coming at Kylo with a blade. It was laughable; Kylo probably had a full foot in height over her.

"/No/, you fuck," Kylo growled, reaching across the centre console to slam his passenger side door, evidently having decided Hux wasn’t getting in. "I just told you. When we raced." He gripped the driver's side door. "Whatever," he interjected. "I'm out. Get out of the way."

He pulled the driver’s side door closed with a violence that Hux felt physically, and it was all Hux could do to back towards the burger stand while Kylo peeled out of the lot at a harrowing speed. He heard the darker-skinned man yelp, "shit!" as Kylo's car screamed past them, but he settled when the girl leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. The other man bent close to get a peck as well.

/Well, well,/ Hux thought, turning back towards his car. /What a fucking waste./

He drove to the hotel anyway, just so the expense wasn't a total wash, and ordered an embarrassingly fruity cocktail to his room. He hadn't even gotten to finish his chile relleno.

The more he thought about it, the more it rankled. What kind of an entitled, self-important man child was Kylo, anyway? Just, /leaving/ like that?

The drink packed a punch on an empty stomach, and Hux took that as a good enough reason to order another. At least the service at the hotel was fast.

He'd hoped he could just have some no-strings attached sex on what turned out to be a /very/ comfortable bed, and Kylo had gone and cocked it all up by being a fucking psychopath. A psychopath in designer boots. Who the fuck did he think he was? Hux chewed furiously on the fruit skewer garnishing the drink, bit savagely into a rum-soaked pineapple wedge.

Did all of the camguys on Kylo's site cut paycheques large enough to bankroll luxury vehicles? Was Kylo playing him for a fool all along? Lying in his bed with all identifying possessions slyly offscreen, so people could assume he needed the money? Lifting his threadbare shirt to show off the lines of ink leading tantalisingly into his trousers, so people would throw a few extra pennies his way? Flaunting the angry and unexplained scars, on his hip, on his shoulder, on his face, so people could guess at what traumas he'd been through and take pity?

Hux flicked the bamboo skewer to parts unknown and peeled his shirt off. He felt like a jackass in his shorts, and kicked those onto a chair. His head was buzzing, and it was too hot, and he spread out on the cool sheets. At least he didn't have to share this with Kylo. The fucking wanker probably wouldn't even appreciate it.

/That bastard,/ Hux thought. The image of Kylo, bent forward with his eyes closed, lips curled loosely around a quiet moan, made him grimace, and press the heel of his hand against his cock. It was unfair, really. His hips bucked up into his hand and he bit his lip. If things had gone according to plan, he could have had that, could have run his hands over Kylo's shoulders, down his back, could have gripped his generous ass and pulled their hips together. He pressed his hand down harder, fingers drawing his balls up. He was only half hard, and it might take him longer than usual with how strong those drinks had been, and he slid his hand up to his tip, teased just under the head through his underwear. He sucked his lip between his teeth, imagined what kissing Kylo would be like.

The man had some gorgeous lips. He'd always thought so, from the first moment he'd clicked on his picture. Squeezing himself slowly he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the pillows and thinking how good they'd looked in person, even if they were a little chapped. Having met Kylo, he didn't think he'd be a gentle kisser. He'd press so hard it stung, sucking Hux's lips, biting, demanding. He'd grip Hux's jaw, or his arms, to hold him in place so he could take what he wanted.

The thought of Kylo /wanting/ to kiss him sent a thrill through his veins, and he shuddered, thrusting up against his hand again. He'd want to cup Kylo's jaw, then push hands into his hair, give as good as he got, taste him. He'd want to writhe his cock against Kylo's as they kissed, and find him hard against him. He could almost imagine it, the hot length of Kylo's cock sliding alongside his, through the layers of their underwear. In the fantasy, Kylo wore those sheer boxer-briefs he'd worn in their video chat. They'd slide smooth and barely-there against his cotton ones.

He pulsed wetly into his underwear, hard faster than he'd expected. The cotton stuck to him, and he played his fingers around the wet spot, rubbing the damp fabric gently against himself. He imagined Kylo, teasing him by licking him through the cotton, sucking precome from the cloth. His fingers didn't quite match the fantasy, but he stroked his middle and forefinger up and down his cock anyway, as a slow methodical tongue might do. Hastily, he sucked these fingers into his mouth, tasting himself on their tips, and then dragged them up his length again, imagining the resistance as Kylo's tongue against dry fabric.

He wanted so badly to grip Kylo by that mess of black curls, rub his cock against his face. He swallowed, and shoved his shorts down his thighs to be kicked to the end of the bed.

In the fantasy, Kylo kissed up Hux's thighs, dark eyes blown wide with want as he made his slow way up to Hux's cock. Hux sucked his fingers again, trailed them wet up his inner thigh and then over his balls, as he imagined Kylo lapping teasingly there, his nose brushing the underside of Hux's cock. Finally, Hux allowed the touch of his bare hand to his base, fingers skating lightly up to his tip. He licked his lips, and reached towards the chair to snag his optimistically-packed lube from his pocket. His hand slipped a bit on the bed and he lurched, and for a moment the room spun, and he had to close his eyes and roll onto his back, and wait for the world to right itself.

The small tube of lube lay on his chest as he waited for the dizziness to subside. It gave him a moment to think about what he was doing. Once again, he was touching himself to the idea of someone he couldn't have. This time, though, he thought it likely that he actively disliked the person he was fantasising about, and, stupidly, that thought made his cock jump. He pressed a hand to his eyes, and trailed the other to his hip, hesitating. /Christ/, what was wrong with him?

He thought about the way Kylo had looked, losing his temper, high spots of colour in his cheeks, and sucked in a sharp breath. He thought about his low growl and his hips jolted off the bed.

He grabbed for the lube and slicked his hand, wrapped his fist around his cock with a stifled moan. Pushing his face into the cool pillow, he gave himself a few sharp pulls, thinking about Kylo's furious face, his bared teeth, his clenched fists. He imagined Kylo looking at him like that as Hux fucked him, demanding him to go harder, faster, fingers gripping the coverlet as Hux slowed down just to spite him.

He slowed his fist, bit his lips, imagined holding Kylo by the hips as Kylo rode him. Kylo would want to throw his weight into it, would be a greedy, needy fuck, but Hux would hold him just halfway up his length, and grind the last few inches in and out, slowly, driving Kylo mad. Kylo would have to suspend himself, powerful thighs trembling with the effort, face dark with frustrated arousal, as Hux drew it out. They'd use the strap.

Kylo had brought it with him, after all. He'd liked it, liked giving Hux that element of control. Hux stroked a bit faster. Kylo was willing to do it again. Hux trailed his thumb through his slit, slid his fist down, squeezed on the way back up. For all of his hissing and spitting Kylo really just wanted to submit.

"Shit!" Hux yelped, as he came all over his belly, shocked at how quickly and suddenly it had happened. "Oh, fuck," he groaned, stroking himself through it. Come dripped onto his stomach as he milked it out of himself, oversensitive but still, so good. "Kylo," he whispered, as the last pulses died. He shivered, and because he was still a little buzzed, dragged his fingers through the mess splattered across his stomach and chest and brought them to his lips. If it was Kylo's, if the man had come across Hux's body after riding him to completion, Hux would suck his fingers into his mouth, eyes locked on Kylo's as he licked all traces from between his fingers. He might offer some to Kylo, make him taste himself, just to remind him of what he'd done. Hux moaned quietly and swabbed hastily at his stomach with tissues from the night stand.

In a few hours, he'd be sober, and he'd be disgusted with what he'd done. Unless, of course, he ordered another drink, told them to make it extra strong, and, with any luck, passed out.


	4. Nobody Walks in L.A.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux tries to get some work done, even as he continues to make poor choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter this time but next week's is at least twice as long!

It was possibly the worst hangover he'd had since university, and Sunday passed fairly miserably. He checked out of the hotel, drove home carefully, and stewed when that reminded him of his driving encounter with Kylo. He half expected a black custom Audi R8 to come screeching around his car.

 

By Monday, only his pride was wounded. By Tuesday, it seemed the interns had finally stopped waiting for him to let slip about his 'new girlfriend'. On Wednesday he was finally able to get ahold of his contact at the Whitney, and arranged a Skype call with him for the following day, one o'clock Eastern time, which meant, counting back, eleven Pacific Standard. That, annoyingly, was in the middle of his morning, which would mean he probably wouldn't be in the office until after lunch. It was always this way when he did work for Mr. Snoke: it completely swallowed all of his other commitments.

 

It would be worth it, he reminded himself. Mr. Snoke was an invaluable contact to have.

 

Adding the video chat to his planner, he remembered he ought to delete the Skype account he'd set up to talk to Kylo, see if he could move the Skype credit to his other account, just in case. His lips twitched, but he didn't sneer. He put the whole experience out of his mind and went to grab a quick lunch at the Vietnamese sandwich stand around the corner.

 

There was no seating, but it was an easy walk to a small park near Rodeo. With his plastic bag crinkling in one hand and his tablet in the other, he looked around for a good spot. Even at 1:30 on a Thursday there were runners showing off their ability to cavort around in the oppressive Los Angeles heat, and women in lululemon yoga gear demonstrating exactly how bendy they could be. He bypassed all the benches baking in the sun with the bizarre public art and set up camp on the grass under a large tree. He felt out of place, in his suit, sitting on the grass, but it was an extremely well-manicured strip of lawn and gave him the required privacy to open his Skype app on his tablet so he could set about deleting that account. In time he'd be able to look back on the mistake of showing Kylo his face as a tremendous waste of money and time, but nothing more than that.

 

But then, his traitorous heart jumped into his throat when he saw how many messages sat waiting for him on the secondary account. Kylo was the only person who had this address, and Hux sucked on his lips a moment before clicking Kylo's icon.

 

In the end, he found himself staring at the icon, a photo of Kylo from his lips to his collarbones, and the dot indicating exactly how many times Kylo had messaged him since Saturday.

 

Did he even want to know what they said? Based on their brief meeting, Hux didn't think the man could be expected to issue a calm, well-deserved apology. He took a deep breath and as he released it, tapped the conversation and began to scroll through. Random messages caught his eye as he did.

 

Nights.of.Ren : u didn't watch my show again Wed 12:03

 

Nights.of.Ren : fine don't answer Tues 14:37

 

Nights.of.Ren : do u want to meet up again ? Tues 13:50

 

Nights.of.Ren : u no since the video chat the redheads category on pornhub is my second most opened tab on chrome. Ur fault Sun 23:41 

 

That last one made Hux nearly choke on his iced tea. He resisted the urge to cover his mouth like a scandalised silver screen starlet, and read the message a few times over. It was apropos of nothing, and Kylo didn't elaborate beyond that, and then his Skype began ringing.

 

Kylo was calling him.

 

He accepted the call, and immediately wondered why he'd done it.

 

When the picture rasterised, Kylo was staring at him from an unfamiliar room, the afternoon sun through the French windows painting him like a Mondrian. He was shirtless, his hair wet, and if Hux had to guess he'd say Kylo had just finished a shower.

 

"You weren't answering my messages," Kylo accused, expression guarded.

 

"You bailed rather quickly on Saturday," Hux countered. He wasn't going to play nice, since Kylo clearly wouldn't.

 

"I had a reason for that," Kylo insisted, while Hux attempted to learn something of the man through the room behind him. The walls were bare, and painted a sort of buttercream colour that looked a bit too sunny for Kylo's overall affect. There was a small kitchen behind him, but Hux couldn't see much detail there, except for the natural stone tile treatment, and the updated fixtures. It was a nice house, Hux suspected, and Hux wondered if he owned it or rented, if he had housemates, if a man who wore Givenchy boots to a burrito joint lived in this nice West Hollywood home all by himself and did sex work out of boredom, or loneliness.

 

He couldn't see any personal effects or pictures or anything to indicate what Kylo's actual interests were.

 

"She didn't look much like a street racer," Hux mused, thinking back to the girl from whom Kylo had fled in terror.

 

"What do you know?" Kylo retorted. "You spend much time at Canyon Road?" Kylo slicked his hands through his hair, fingers getting caught in the wet curls, and he shook his hands out in annoyance. "She has a piece of shit car that she's completely rebuilt on the inside. I got a look inside before the race, and even offered to help her fix it up, like a /fucking idiot/." His voice rose suddenly at the end of the sentence, and Hux fought the urge to flinch away from his tablet. "She threw it right back in my face, when we raced. Literally, I guess."

 

Hux was about to ask how, but Kylo went on.

 

"She cut around me on the inside, took a curve insanely tight, and I couldn't get around her. I lost control, totalled the car. Piece of the door got me here." He slashed his finger across his face, over his scar.

 

"You were lucky you weren't blinded," Hux commented. "Or killed."

 

Kylo gave him a flat look. "Never heard that before," he drawled. "Definitely wasn't in the hospital for fucking ever, having nurses and surgeons tell me that at least every other day."

 

"Did you have stitches?" Hux asked, ignoring Kylo's sarcasm. "Maybe staples where the slash crossed your forehead?"

 

"Both," Kylo answered. "And a broken clavicle, five broken ribs, a collapsed lung. Had a puncture right here," he pointed to a starburst of scar tissue between his deltoid and pectoral. "Hairline fractures in my humerus, hyperextended both wrists. Concussive bruising from the airbag. What else..." Kylo looked out the window, squinted into the sun. His skin blazed in the golden light, like he was an over-exposed photograph, an expired Polaroid. He leaned toward the camera, and pointed at a thin white scar on his chin, and another above his lip. "These. Had pretty bad lacerations there. Wondered if I'd ever be able to suck dick again." His face lit into a half-smirk before it was quickly extinguished, and he shifted back again while Hux licked his lips sympathetically. "Don't worry," Kylo intoned. "I can."

 

"What about that scar on your midsection?" Hux asked, only moderately successful at schooling his voice.

 

Kylo stretched back, showing off the bloom of gnarled pink flesh above his hip. "You remember my quote-unquote /uncle/ I told you about? The Mexican guy? He burned me with a skillet."

 

Hux had been distracted by the realisation that Kylo wasn't wearing a towel, but his eyes snapped back up at this glib confession. "Sounds like a fun family you've got," he said.

 

"He was mad because I knocked my dad out," Kylo explained bluntly. He didn't seem remorseful. He didn't seem smug. He was stating a fact as it had happened, and all Hux could do was ask /why/.

 

"Why?" Kylo echoed. "We were fighting. He said some... stuff, and I said some stuff, and then I punched him and he went down like a sack of rocks, knocked over a table, guess it woke Chuy in the next room. He picked up a hot skillet off the stove and smacked me with it, housewife style, sloshing hot oil all over here," he circled the area with a fingertip where the oil had cooked him alive. "Then I went down, grabbed his wrist when I did, and the skillet fell on my stomach. See, you can see this moon-shaped burn." Kylo outlined it, and Hux openly stared, imagining the white-hot pain that must have caused it, Kylo, writhing on the floor of his parents' kitchen.

 

"Did you have him arrested for assault?" Hux asked, feeling as though he was watching a soap opera, getting the same sort of sick thrill. There was a fair chance none of this was true; Kylo consistently lied about his scars during his show, why would this be any different?

 

"What, call the cops? Fuck that. No, I fucking left, got some burn ointment, went on with my life."

 

"So you just," Hux couldn't believe it, convinced himself not to, "put some Neosporin on it and ignored it?"

 

"Pretty much," Kylo drawled. His hair was drying in the sun, fluffier than Hux had ever seen it. The image of Kylo, with his devil-may-care attitude, putting product in his hair, made him smirk.

 

Kylo snorted, grinning lopsidedly. "What are you smiling at? You like hearing about my bodily harm?"

 

"Perhaps I do," Hux replied lightly. "You were kind-of an arse to me, you know."

 

"You can think that if you want to," Kylo deflected, but Hux wasn't going to take the bait. "You should've come with me when I invited you." Hux couldn't help the slight scoff. "I would've taken you back here," Kylo promised, and Hux imagined himself in Kylo's bedroom. He knew it well, or, at least he knew the corner from which Kylo shot his show. "Would've let you do anything to me. Especially as pissed off as I was. Would've loved a rough fuck."

 

Hux glanced around, hoping nobody was listening in if Kylo was going to be crude.

 

"Oh, are you embarrassed?" Kylo asked, sloe-eyed. He didn't quite smile. "You don't want anyone overhearing a respectable person like you talking to a sex worker, while you sit on the grass in your Armani suit."

 

"It's Thomas Pink, actually," Hux sniffed. He promised himself he wouldn't let Kylo affect him.

 

"Of course, forgive me, you'd never be caught dead in Armani." Kylo had begun working his fingers through his hair again, twisting it, presumably so it would dry into an effortlessly tousled look.

 

It felt unbearably domestic, watching Kylo perform his ablutions whilst sitting naked on his sofa in the early afternoon, so Hux said, "Make fun all you like, Kylo, but you wore four hundred dollar boots to our 'date'," he pointed the word with his tongue, sharpened it with a derisive quirk of his brow, "so I don't think you have a leg to stand on."

 

"Yeah," Kylo agreed, leaning toward the camera again. "Maybe I only wanted you to fuck me so I could buy new shoes."

 

"You wanted me to fuck you because you apparently just realised redheads could be sexy."

 

"Redheaded men, maybe." Kylo went back to messing with his hair, as if highlighting its more 'mainstream' colour.

 

"Are you aware of what an utter cock you are?"

 

"Yeah," Kylo grunted again, "but you still want me." He made eye contact with Hux through the camera. "What does that say about you?"

 

"I'm hanging up now, Kylo," Hux spat, certain his banh mi would already be soggy.

 

"Wait!"

 

Hux hesitated, and he told himself it was just in case Kylo wanted to, finally, apologise. But, Kylo had such an intense, commanding look in his eyes. Hux frowned, finger hovering over the red circle that would disconnect them.

 

"Come over. After work. Just-- I'll give you the address. Will you?"

 

This seemed to be the closest he'd get to an apology, and really unless Kylo pulled a knife on him or something, he wasn't risking much by going. In fact, it was really Kylo who should be concerned, giving his home address to a stranger off the internet he'd met all of /once/.

 

"I'll think about it," he said. "Just type the address in the chat and we'll see how the day goes."

 

Kylo looked like he wanted to say something else, but, wisely, bit his lips instead. He typed the address and Hux nodded and was about to sign out when Kylo, leaning close to the camera, asked him when he got off work.

 

“I usually leave around five, so you’ll have to wait awhile for me to decide.”

 

“What do you do, then?” Kylo asked, persistently. “You like, a banker?”

 

“A lawyer,” Hux replied drily, and he didn’t know if it was a veiled threat against Kylo’s quasi-legal to entirely illegal antics or not. 

 

“Are you coming over?” Kylo pestered.

 

“I said I’d think about it. Goodbye, Kylo.” He put his tablet away. He picked up his sandwich. He tried to think of literally anything else besides whether or not he'd go to Kylo's home, and what might happen there if he did.

 

When he got back to the office, the message light was blinking on his desk phone. Honestly, what were interns /for/ if they couldn't pick up the damned--

 

"Mr. Hux?" Mitaka piped up, leaning into his doorway as if using the partition as a blast shield, "you had a call from a Scottish gentleman. He didn't give his name, he-- he," Mitaka shrunk back further behind the door jamb. "He said you'd know who it was, and said he'd only speak to you personally. So I didn't take a message. I hope that's alright, er, sir?"

 

The caller had been right; Hux /did/ know who it was.

 

"Thank you, Mitaka." He offered the man a rare smile and thought for a moment Mitaka might collapse from the shock.

 

When Mitaka left, Hux picked up the message on his answering machine, which, predictably, said just "Call me," in a Glaswegian brogue completely untempered by the man's years in the United States. He'd thought he was meant to have a video call the next day? Hoping the call wasn't to cancel on him, he dialled the long distance number and drummed his fingers on his desk.

 

"Art Handlin'," Balloch said when he picked up.

 

"It's me," Hux responded. "You called?"

 

"I did. Wondered if you could reschedule to today. Right now, like."

 

"Hold on." Hux went to close his door, and, when he saw Thanisson's curious face peeking from across the central office, closed his blinds as well. Let them talk, he thought. This, at least, was work-related. "Alright, let me just load up my Skype..."

 

He balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear as he fumbled with his tablet. "Right," he said, "go on and sign in, then."

 

"You could afford to be a bit nicer," Balloch complained, but Hux could hear him typing all the same. "If you're going to use the fact that we went to the same uni to get at my information, you could at least pretend we were mates."

 

Hux didn't answer, but saw Balloch's icon appear. "I'm going to call you," he said, and hung up just late enough to hear Balloch mutter, 'weren't even in the same year,' before he disconnected.

 

Balloch's office, when the Skype call loaded, was full of posters from past exhibitions. To a collector, some of those would be worth a bit of money as well, but they were tacked up carelessly and shoved up against a bulletin board, and under or on top of the posters and a monthly diary belonging to whomever Balloch shared the room with.

 

"I could get into a fair bit o' trouble for this," he reminded Hux, and Hux worked to keep his expression neutral instead of rolling his eyes.

 

"I'm sure you signed a non-disclosure agreement but I promise I'm not about to sell your information to the press in advance of the exhibition."

 

"I surely hope not," Balloch grumbled, glancing over the camera at what was likely the door, behind his computer.

 

"You know Mr. Snoke likes to help those who help him," Hux stated casually, watching for a twitch or a tell. It wasn't an empty promise; Balloch could probably expect a generous thank-you gift if Mr. Snoke was satisfied with his service. Balloch's eyes widened a fraction, and Hux knew he had him.

 

By the end of the call, Hux had the names of artists who would be featured, screenshots of some pieces that would be shown, even prices for some of them. He thought Mr. Snoke would be pleased, in his way.

 

"Thank you," he said, reviewing the materials he'd gathered. "You have been quite helpful." A pause. He supposed it would be worthwhile to at least make an effort. "Good luck with the exhibition, Bala-Tik."

 

"Och!" the man exclaimed with chagrin, "Remindin' me of that embarrassin' nickname. You pest!" He was laughing though, and Hux let one corner of his mouth curl into a smirk before they said their goodbyes.

 

When Hux walked back towards the kitchen through the main office to refresh his tea, heads turned and conversation hushed. Resolutely, he tried to ignore it. He supposed that now the office thought he had a secret Scottish lover. Well. Rinsing out his mug, he remembered that Kylo had insisted he go over to his home, that the man's address sat in his chat window, quietly taunting him. Tempting him. Really, Balloch would make a preferable red herring, by comparison.

 

A bag of Yorkshire Gold, and then as always, too much milk. He could almost hear the voice of his father asking 'Did you want any tea with your milk?' as he had any time Hux had managed to get as much milk as he wanted into his cup. As he had done for the past eighteen years, he shook it off, pressed a spoon into his tea bag, stirred it for a moment, then let the tea steep half-heartedly in vaguely warm, milky water.

 

He was going to do it. He was going to go to Kylo's house and let whatever happened, happen. He knew he'd only been kidding himself, pretending there was any doubt in his mind. Because, Kylo was right, much as it pained him to know it: he still wanted to fuck the man six ways from Sunday, despite, maybe even /because/ of what a shit Kylo really and truly was. He didn't yet know what that said about him, but he was sure he wasn't going to like it.

 

When he got back to his desk, door closed behind him, blinds still shuttered, he went to clear the video conference with Balloch from his calendar and found himself staring at the Skype icon again. He glanced up at his closed door. He opened the app and signed in to his other account.

 

He had to assume Kylo was always online, as he messaged Hux with "hey" as soon as Hux signed in.

 

RedScare34: don't call, I'm at my desk Tues 15:54

 

Nights.of.Ren: is that wise? Tues 15:54

 

Nights.of.Ren: what if u become impossibly aroused at work Tues 15:55

 

Hux frowned. He wouldn't 'become impossibly aroused' just by /talking/ to Kylo over chat.

 

RedScare34: I have some modicum of self-control Tues 15:56

 

Nights.of.Ren: no u don't. If u did u wouldn't be talking to me at all rn Tues 15:56

 

Nights.of.Ren: what r u hoping will happen? U want me to sext u or sth? Tues 15:56

 

RedScare34: "sext"? What year is it? Tues 15:57

 

RedScare34: honestly you sell sex for a living what are you on about? Tues 15:57

 

Nights.of.Ren: that still doesn't explain why ur messaging me at work Tues 15:57

 

RedScare34: what does "Ren" mean? Tues 15:58

 

Nights.of.Ren: ur avoiding the question. I think u just like the possibility of being caught. Tues 15:58

 

Nights.of.Ren: it was a dumb joke with myself. Name of ur first pet and the first street u lived on= ur porn name. I lived on Renata road when I was a kid Tues 16:00 

 

Nights.of.Ren: but Kylo Renata sounded stupid Tues 16:01

 

RedScare34: so I've been calling you a dog's name all this time? Tues 16:02

 

Nights.of.Ren: it was a betta fish Tues 16:02

 

Nights.of.Ren: but u can call me a dog name if u want. U want me to call u Master? Tues 16:02

 

For once in his life, Hux felt as if he'd appreciate an emoji. He couldn't tell if Kylo was serious.

 

Nights.of.Ren: I bet u would love that. U clearly love control or else u wouldn't ve bought me that cock strap Tues 16:03

 

Hux saw it happening again: the way Kylo would snatch control in a situation which suggested he'd have none. He tried to get them onto a more even keel but how could he? Kylo had read him like a book.

 

RedScare34: what about you, then? Would YOU like that? Tues 16:03

 

Nights.of.Ren: yea. I'd kneel for u, maybe even do what u said. U wanna get me a collar to match the strap? Tues 16:04

 

This was infuriating. Apparently he'd let slip enough about himself that Kylo could guess his kinks, but he knew next to nothing about the man, really, besides some of his family dynamic, that he was utterly impatient when it came to orgasm, and that he had some fairly self-destructive tendencies.

 

RedScare34: what would you like about it? Tues 16:04

 

It took a substantially longer time for Kylo to reply, and Hux began to wonder if he oughtn't have asked.

 

Nights.of.Ren: dunno. Never thought about it. I guess not having to think about shit would be nice. Tues 16:09

 

RedScare34: I see. Tues 16:10

 

He didn’t know what else to say. It felt as though he was getting into dangerous territory, something he didn’t want to discuss over chat. Either this would open up a can of worms about Kylo’s mental state, which Hux didn’t want to hear about, or it would convince Kylo that Hux was some sort of fetishist, who couldn’t get off without dominating someone. 

 

Nights.of.Ren: don’t be like that. ur gonna kill the conversation Tues 16:10

 

Nights.of.Ren: are u gonna come over tonight? Tues 16:11

 

Hux’s heart skipped a beat.

 

RedScare34: yes. Tues 16:12

 

Nights.of.Ren: Good. Tues 16:12

 

Nights.of.Ren: how far away from WeHo do u work? Tues 16:12

 

RedScare34: 15 minutes. 20 if there’s traffic Tues 16:13

 

Nights.of.Ren: ur close, then. I gotta go pick up some stuff. see u later Tues 16:14

 

And just like that, he signed off, and left Hux staring at the screen. What an intensely irritating man. 

 

He watched the clock for the next 45 minutes, annoyed with himself for his lack of productivity after his video chat with Balloch, annoyed that nobody was emailing him, annoyed that the only reason he hadn’t left yet was because it would make the interns chatter like school children. Honestly, were they not given enough to do? He was annoyed that Kylo had had such an effect on him, that he was measuring out when he should leave the office to be on time, but not appear too eager. Speaking of acting like a school child… 

 

When he finally gave up and began packing up his things, it was just past five. Should he pick up some wine? Would that be too much? Well, it was only polite when being invited to someone’s home. He swung by a pretentious wine lounge on his way over, pretending to know what he was looking for but honestly just picking something that wasn't the cheapest thing there while still remaining affordable. Would a man who wore Givenchy boots and drove an Audi know the difference? Yes, there was a difference between Charles Shaw and a twenty dollar wine, but was there any appreciable difference between a twenty dollar wine and a forty dollar one?

 

He hoped so, as he'd opted for the latter.

 

Traffic was slow on Santa Monica Boulevard, and Hux once again found himself flipping through radio channels and trying not to overthink where he was going. Not only did the traffic give him time to be alone with his thoughts, but it was a fairly straight shot from Beverly Hills to West Hollywood, so he couldn't even distract himself with driving. It would be better to go into this with no expectations, to avoid disappointment. After all, he’d made his show of good will, contained in a forty-five dollar 2009 Château Belleisle Mondotte, which meant nothing to him but sounded somewhat impressive. 

 

He wasn’t even sure why he was making the effort, considering Kylo had been the one who insisted he come over, Kylo who had treated him poorly the last time they chose to meet. Hux forced himself not to think too much about that, either, because despite it all, he was still on his way over there, as though he couldn’t help himself. 

 

Really, he couldn’t.


	5. Pleasure to Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So they meet up again. Can they ever get through a meal together?

As he'd thought, Kylo lived in a fairly nice neighbourhood. A gardener was busy tending the hedge outside Kylo's building, and a young mother did lunges across the sidewalk whilst pushing her designer buggy. The hedge was being investigated by an equally designer dog, which was being ignored by a man with a Ralph Lauren polo shirt and an iPhone 6. The building was one of those off-centre modern industrial constructions that looked as though it was composed of several blocks stacked together at angles with one another. It had a large, round window in the upper storey, and palm trees in the front yard. What it lacked, however, was street parking, and he wished he could call Kylo to let him into the garage.

Twenty minutes later, after he'd finally found parking six blocks away and walked back to Kylo's building in the punishing heat, he approached the building to find the man himself, standing barefoot on the front steps and staring at his phone. He looked up just as Hux made it to the walkway, and stuck his phone in the pocket of his UCLA hoodie. How he was wearing that in the Los Angeles summer, Hux didn't know.

"Did you think I wouldn't show?" Hux asked as Kylo picked at some peeling lettering on his basketball shorts. This was a serious aesthetic shift from how Hux was used to seeing the man.

"I ordered Thai food, but it's late. You'll eat pad thai, right?"

Hux wondered what red wine would be like with peanut sauce. The label at the shop had suggested it should be paired with 'gamey beasts'-- venison or boar, which indicated this wine was made with a 17th century aristocratic gamehunter in mind.

"I brought wine," Hux answered, lifting the jute tote bag the store had provided.

"Cool. I'm gonna wait for the delivery guy but you can let yourself in." He offered Hux a bunch of keys and said, "it's the door on the right. The place is a triplex so you've got three choices. I trust you to figure it out."

Kylo trusted him more than just that, it would appear, letting him just waltz into his house unsupervised. It only took him a bit of fumbling to find the right key and then he was in.

It was blissfully cool in the house, but there was very little in the front room that would suggest anything of Kylo's character. For a moment, he allowed himself to consider the strangeness of his situation. He was in the very nice West Hollywood home of a man he only knew through online sex work, whose only moniker was a pseudonym, and who, apparently, had ordered them Thai food. It was a good show Hux didn't have a nut allergy. He mused on all of this for just a second, before he was distracted by a collection of objects on a tall, narrow table pushed up against the wall. It was exactly the sort of place one would leave a set of keys, and indeed there seemed to be a chipped dish for that purpose, along with a mostly empty ashtray, a scraggly aloe plant, and a picture frame, face down. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Hux picked it up.

It took him a moment to recognise the woman in the photograph, but when he did he was struck by what an odd thing it was to have in one's home. Just then the door thumped against the wall as Kylo bumped it open, arms laden with plastic bags.

"Give me a hand here," Kylo demanded, and Hux set the photograph down as he'd found it.

"Why do you have a photograph of the Speaker of the House on your side table?" Hux asked, grabbing a bag heavy with soup containers.

"Why do I what?" Kylo grunted, setting the bags on a low coffee table in front of the couch. "Oh. She uh. She's my mother. So that's why."

Hux nearly dropped the bag, but managed to get it onto the table before collapsing into a papasan chair.

"Don't make a big deal about it," Kylo warned, digging for chopsticks. "I'm really, really sick of that."

If what Mr. Snoke said about Leia Organa-Solo was true, then that could explain a great deal. Was Kylo just living off of a trust fund, and doing sex work for... for the bants? For shits and giggles?

"Is that why you work under a pseudonym?" Hux asked instead. What kind of scandal would it be if the press discovered the son of the most powerful woman in the United States spent three nights a week masturbating on camera for pay? Hux didn't know anything about Kylo's father, or indeed the rest of his family, but he was fairly sure he could look it up on Wikipedia when he got home.

"Partly. Also 'Kylo Ren' sounds sexier than my real name."

"Oh, does it?" Hux wheedled, tearing into a bag and surveying what Kylo had ordered. "What is it?"

"Tom Yum Soup."

"Tom Yum Soup Organa-Solo. I can see why you chose a different name to go by," Hux drawled.

"I meant the-- the soup you're holding. Fuck you." He blushed prettily and Hux realised the subject of Kylo's name must be a sore spot. It just made him that much more curious. What kind of ridiculous name had that woman bestowed upon her son? He knew from personal experience that political families could have some odd naming conventions.

"I realise that," Hux assured him.

"So you only said that to be a dick. Okay," Kylo huffed. Hux withheld a tut. Kylo was acting awfully put out over such a little thing.

"Shall I go find some plates?" Hux suggested, and Kylo paused with his chopsticks poised over a takeout container.

"Nah. Just eat out of the boxes. Unless you have oral herpes, or mono, or something."

"Of course not!" Hux exclaimed. /Mono/? Was this secondary school?

"How should I know?" Kylo replied evenly. "It's not something that came up while you were paying me to stroke my cock." He stirred his egg fried rice with prawns, encouraging it to cool.

"Well you'll be happy to know I don't have herpes. Or any other STI for that matter." Hux reached for a container of pad thai, and noticed that Kylo had ordered two. He supposed a man like Kylo had to eat a great deal to maintain his physique.

"Me either." He glanced over at Hux and frowned. "Don't give me that look. You think that just because I do sex work I'm automatically covered in STDs?"

"That's not precisely it," Hux hedged. Actually he'd been thinking that someone who looked as good as Kylo did had probably fucked a lot of people, but he didn't think Kylo's ego needed that information.

"I'm not," Kylo insisted anyway. "Give me the wine, I'll go get a bottle opener." In the kitchen, he laboured over uncorking the bottle, and shouted, "I bought some beer earlier. If you want any of that. Never had wine with Thai food so. Might be terrible. If it is, there's a contingency plan." Bless him, it appeared he was /trying/.

The wine glasses clinked in Kylo's hand as he carried them over, still barefoot, still in his UCLA hoodie.

"Did you attend UCLA, then?"

Kylo looked down at his front, then looked at Hux like it was a stupid question. "Yeah," he stated.

"For what?" Hux forged on. Honestly, sometimes people wore sweaters from schools they didn't attend. Kylo could have bought it at the Goodwill for all he knew.

"Comparative Religion." He poured out equal measures of wine, and scooted one of the glasses towards Hux on the tabletop.

Hux blinked. "So you studied to be a theologian and became a professional pornographer?"

"Yes." Kylo stared into him with his large, dark eyes, daring him to comment further.

"I should take you to the Getty," Hux mused drily. "We could argue about symbolism in the altarpieces."

Kylo laughed: a short, quiet thing, and opened the other container of pad thai. "Actually I primarily focused on Eastern religions."

"Ah, then it's the 19th century modernists and proto-impressionists for you. I have a feeling /japonisme/ would really hack you off." Hux was in his element, teasing Kylo using art history.

"You an art dealer?" Kylo spoke around a mouthful of noodles and Hux grimaced over the rim of his glass. He'd have expected the son of the Speaker of the House to have better manners.

"A lawyer. I started by practising art law, though I don't do much of that anymore." Kylo only nodded in response to this revelation, but Hux supposed it was less of a shock than discovering his favourite camguy was a theological scholar and related to the third highest-paid politician in America. He drank more wine.

"How long have you been in the States?" Kylo asked, and Hux swallowed quickly.

"Nearly five years," he croaked, before taking another sip to clear his throat. "Next year I could apply for naturalisation, if I wanted to."

"/If/ you wanted to stay in this damn country," Kylo commented bleakly. He polished off his wine, which Hux supposed meant it wasn't too terrible.

While Kylo poured himself another glass of wine, Hux said, "I'm not in any hurry to return to Britain. They're voting on whether or not to leave the EU at the end of this month, and there are certainly going to be consequences either way."

Kylo reached for the soup, and Hux passed it over. Their fingertips touched, and Hux thought this was perhaps the first time they'd touched at all. Or, had something like this happened over Mexican food? Laughable that it was always against the warm plastic of a takeaway container.

Kylo didn't seem to notice, merely scooped sliced bamboo out of the red broth with a plastic spoon, and slurped it up. Hux tried not to pull a face. Kylo winced. He'd burnt his tongue.

"So, art law. That sounds super boring," Kylo stated, digging around in the soup. "I guess it makes sense. Uptight lawyer gets his rocks off by engaging a stranger in a bondage fantasy."

"I don't recall you protesting. In fact I believe you got fairly into it. Even so far as to bring my little gift to our date," Hux countered, stabbing his pad thai with his chopsticks.

"You didn't take advantage of that," Kylo protested darkly. If Hux didn't know better he'd think he'd hurt Kylo's /feelings/.

"You were acting like a lunatic," Hux reminded him.

Kylo's expression flashed and he set down the soup too hard, causing it to slosh over his fingers and into the glass tabletop. He ignored it, and crawled across his couch until he was braced against the arm, face to face with Hux. Hux wanted to put his pad thai down, so it felt less like he was holding it between them like the worst shield ever conceived of, but there was no way to lean toward the table without head butting Kylo in the process. For several long moments, Kylo only stared him down, perhaps trying to intimidate him. It wouldn't work, but Hux was interested to see what Kylo would do.

What he did was solve Hux's pad thai problem by lifting the container and chopsticks out of his hands, and dropping them on the table. Hux almost wanted to protest but realised how childish that would look, and besides which, there were so many other things he could say instead. Foremost in his mind was that this behaviour did not at all contradict Hux's allegation that Kylo acted like a mad person. Kylo climbed closer, kneeling on the arm of the couch, invading Hux's personal space.

"Look at me," Kylo commanded, and Hux almost said he couldn't /not/, with Kylo looming in his face like that, but he looked anyway. He didn't know what he was looking for, specifically, and studied the ornate arch of Kylo's nose, his high cheekbones, the full pout of his mouth, in closer detail than ever before. "Look at this," Kylo said, pointing to the scar across his face. "You wouldn't be so happy to have a fucking tea party with someone who did this to /you/." He grabbed Hux's hand, pulled it to his cheek, pressed Hux's fingers to the gnarled skin. "Feel that. Can you feel how deep it was? Can you guess how long it took to heal?"

Hux wasn't sufficiently versed in medicine to guess, but he let Kylo drag his hand around, felt the contrast between unmarred flesh and pink, angry scar. Kylo's hand was very, very warm, holding his, and Hux wondered if this was because of the soup, or because he burned a bit hotter than other people.

"You don't even have so much as an acne scar on your face," Kylo went on, still stroking Hux's fingertips over his cheek. "So you have no idea what it's like walking around looking like this. Children ask me what's wrong with my face."

Hux stroked his thumb deliberately over the widest part of the scar, where the corded flesh was thickest. "And here I was thinking you didn't give a fuck what people thought," he teased. He smiled a little, but Kylo's face seemed unable to decide what to do with itself.

"Of course I give a fuck," Kylo grit out, but he leaned into Hux's hand all the same. "Don't be stupid. My job involves me being on camera." He turned his face so his lips brushed Hux's palm. "Do you want to know how I started camming?"

Repressing a shiver at the tickle of Kylo's breath against his hand, Hux said, "Tell me."

"I was at the Troubadour, basically sitting at the bar getting trashed, and this old guy walks in. People are dancing, it's hot, but this guy is wearing a giant black coat. And he looks around, walks up to the bar, hands me a business card, and leaves." Kylo leaned away from him then, sat back on the couch. Hux's hand half followed him, but then he realised what he was doing and plucked up his wine instead. "Doesn't buy a drink or anything. Pretty fuckin' weird," Kylo went on, pulling his fried rice toward himself. "And the card was matte black with black gloss letters embossed on it, and nothing else. Like, what the fuck is that? So I look up the site when I get home. And it's this camming site and I'm like, is this old geezer hitting on me, or advertising to me?" He bit into a prawn with bared teeth. "But I had to set up an account to contact site mods or anything like that. So I did that, and I submitted a site enquiry, and waited like three days before anyone got back to me. And I learned later that old guy owns the whole enterprise, and he thought I had 'the look'. But here's the kicker," he confided, pointing at Hux with his chopsticks, "he doesn't just own that site. He owns like, half the internet basically. Because he's Walter Snoke, from First Order, Inc."

Hux gasped, and then coughed, choking on his wine. He gulped down the rest of the glass, struggling to clear his throat, and reached for the bottle. Kylo helpfully refilled his glass.

"I know. Here's this multibillionaire media mogul, CEO of like, probably the one of the largest media conglomerates in the world, and he's walking into the Troubadour and personally scouting talent for this one porn site he owns. I dunno. Maybe he owns the band that was playing. Are you dying?"

Unable to catch his breath, Hux wheezed, hot in the face, eyes watering. He coughed heartily, mopping his face with a paper napkin, and Kylo touched his knee.

"Don't die," he said blandly, and Hux glared at him over his serviette. "Drink this," Kylo urged, pushing the refilled glass into Hux's hands. Hux drank, stifling the coughs as they rose up, but could not believe-- Mr. Snoke?

"By the way," Kylo said, staying close, "don't go running to the press with that. I mean it's all legal but the site does not need that kind of attention. Neither do I, for that matter."

Hux shook his head. "You don't understand," he rasped, before swallowing the last of his wine. "He's one of my clients!" It was a struggle to get the words out but Kylo's thick eyebrows shot up. "I was on my way to meet with him when you cut me off that time in Bel-Air," he recalled, and Kylo crossed his arms behind his head, leaning into the couch cushions.

"Well, shit."

That seemed to be all Kylo was going to say on the subject.

"Here," he said, filling his and Hux's glasses a third time, emptying the bottle. "I'm gonna grab a few beers. Will you drink Sierra Nevada?"

Hux mumbled an affirmative, reeling with all of the sudden reveals he'd experienced in the past hour or so. He hadn't even passed his information from Baloch on to Mr. Snoke yet, but he knew that the next time he spoke to the man he'd be thinking about how much Snoke would hate knowing he employed the son of Speaker Organa-Solo. Or, maybe he knew exactly who Kylo was, and that's why he'd scouted him. Wouldn't that be perfectly underhanded.

Kylo came back with a six-pack and set the carton on the table, among all the open food containers.

"I think pad thai is better when it's cold," he said, digging out a spear of baby corn.

"Ergh," Hux declared, opting instead for a bit more wine.

"The wine's started to dye your lips," Kylo observed. He put his container down.

"Has it?" He ought to have eaten more. He was feeling light headed after not even three glasses of wine. Granted they were large glasses, but it shamed his Irish heritage nonetheless to be unable to hold his drink.

"Yeah," Kylo said, and he was leaning close, closer than he had when he made Hux touch his scar. "I'll show you."

"What?"

Kylo pulled out his phone, switched the camera to the selfie function, leaned closer so they were both in frame. "See?" Hux looked, but they were both fairly blown out so he couldn't tell. Then, two things happened simultaneously: Kylo snapped a picture, and kissed him.

It wasn't full on the mouth, but it was close, achingly close, a press of heat against the corner, and Hux made a broken sound and put down his wine. Kylo was staring at the picture.

It was fairly unflattering, Hux's eyebrows arching in surprise, his mouth unresolved with its intentions. Kylo chuckled at it and Hux shoved the phone out of his hands and into the seat of the papasan chair as he gripped Kylo by the jaw and kissed him back. Immediately Kylo's mouth opened to him, and Hux tasted the wine on his lips, and liked it better that way than from the glass. It sounded cliché as soon as he had that thought, but he supposed he'd never tried it, licking the taste of wine out of someone's mouth, tasting the clinging notes of applewood and cherry or whatever the fuck the label had said. Kylo tugged him by the arms until he half fell across the sofa, his belly pressed into Kylo's lap. When he righted himself, he found himself straddling Kylo's hips, and Kylo reached for him, shoved hands under his shirts, felt along his stomach, his ribs, his chest.

"Your skin is really soft," he said. "Fuck," he added, leaning forward, pressing a hand to Hux's back to hold him up as he was dipped, grabbing a beer. He pried the cap off with his teeth in a way that made Hux wince, before spitting the cap onto the sofa and taking a few long pulls. "Here," he offered, touching cold glass to Hux's lower lip. It was wet, with beer, or condensation, or from Kylo's lips wrapped around it, Hux didn't know, and he licked the mouth of the bottle, investigating.

"Trying to seduce me by fellating a beer bottle?" Kylo cajoled, but he still watched Hux drink, watched his throat working around each swallow.

"That sounds like something out of a Molly Ringwald movie," Hux complained when he pulled away. "Besides which I'm already in your lap. Should I be making more of an effort at seduction?"

"I'd love to see what you come up with," Kylo said. "I do that shit professionally so I'm a very harsh critic."

He plucked the bottle back out of Hux's fingers and Hux clicked his tongue in annoyance. Professional provocateur indeed. He was halfway tempted to climb off of Kylo's lap and go back to his pad thai, just to spite him, but instead he began pulling carefully at his shirt buttons. Kylo watched, taking another long gulp of his beer, his eyes glassy, his pupils wide.

Hux let his shirt fall open, still wearing his suit jacket, and pushed his undershirt up his stomach. It bunched when it caught under his armpits, and he saw Kylo's eyes rake up the line of his body, settle on his chest. He'd seen it before, but Hux ground his hips against Kylo's, basketball shorts scratching noisily against the fabric of his trousers. Even though Kylo wasn't hard, a soft sound rose in his throat at the stimulation, and Hux, smug, grabbed one of Kylo's hands. He brought it to his lips and kissed the pads of the index and middle fingers, sucked them into his mouth, ran his tongue into the seam between them. He let his eyes fall closed, ignoring the taste of tom yum soup clinging to Kylo's skin, and bobbed his head, taking Kylo's long fingers to the back of his throat. Kylo pressed down, fingers stroking Hux's tongue, and Hux opened his eyes, expecting a teasing look.

Kylo's lips were slightly parted and a high blush coloured his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He barely blinked as he rubbed his fingers back and forth over Hux's tongue. His own flickered out to wet his lips, and he gasped when Hux sucked harder. He even chased Hux's mouth when he pulled away.

Hux pushed Kylo's hand, and Kylo's eyes widened when his wet fingers were pressed to one of Hux's nipples. It hardened under his touch, and Hux guided his hand, showing him how he liked it. Kylo's other hand came up, and Kylo sucked two fingers into his own mouth before bringing them to Hux's other nipple and mimicking the motions Hux showed him.

"Yes, like that," Hux encouraged, softly, and he felt Kylo's cock begin to fill against his thigh. He leaned forward and snatched up the bottle, shoved hastily between the couch cushions to keep it from spilling. He tipped his head back, letting Kylo take over without his guidance, and finished off the bottle.

Suddenly, Kylo grabbed him around the ribs, and the empty bottle clattered onto the floor, rolled away. He was turned, shoved off of Kylo's lap and onto the couch, on his back, as Kylo loomed over him, pinned him by the biceps. Hux shook hair out of his face where it had come loose from its product, felt his eyebrow twitch, before Kylo laid full-body on top of him, and kissed him hungrily. He thrust roughly against him, cock beginning to tent his loose shorts, and Hux spread his legs, invited it. 

Kylo shoved his hands under Hux's back, inside his jacket, grabbed greedily at his skin. With his arms free, Hux could shove his hands under Kylo's hoodie, stroke down his back, feel out scars he hadn't heard about yet. He could feel the slightly different texture of tattooed skin, touch the ripple of burn over his hip. Kylo sucked his lower lip and he groaned into his mouth. 

“You taste like peanut sauce and beer,” Kylo said. 

"Is it better, or worse than the wine?" Hux answered, seeing his reflection in Kylo's wide pupils.

"Hmm," Kylo mumbled, leaning into another kiss. "Not sure."

"That was cheesy," Hux commented. He squeezed Kylo's hips with his thighs. This treatment was going to be terrible for his suit, but there was always dry cleaning.

"Oh," Kylo said, mock-affronted and sitting up. "Well I don't have to keep doing it. I could just," he reached precariously towards the table, snatched up another beer, and again opened it with his teeth.

"Don't do that," Hux chided. "It makes my teeth hurt to watch you."

Kylo spat the cap under the table. "Then don't look," he said.

Hux scoffed, and Kylo tipped his head back and drained half the bottle in one go. "Take this," he said, thrusting the bottle into Hux's hands, "I'm going to the bathroom."

While Kylo was gone, Hux scanned the room again, and finished the bottle. There was not much else of interest: a long mirror leaned against one wall, an Xbox in the entertainment centre with a stack of game and DVD cases he couldn't read at that distance, and an Ikea standing cabinet.

When he stood to grab his wine-- no sense letting it go unfinished-- his legs felt a bit numb, wobbly under him. He always hated this part: discovering the effect of alcohol only after standing. He wasn't /drunk/ yet, but as he swallowed another gulp of wine he thought he might get there soon. Carefully, he edged around the table to look at Kylo's DVDs.

Mad Max: Fury Road, Akira, Predator, Donnie Darko, Heathers, and Rashomon were stacked on top of the Xbox, and next to it was a box set of Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex, which Hux had never seen. He'd never seen Donnie Darko or Predator, either, but he could guess at what they were about, and what kind of person Kylo might be to enjoy them. The IKEA cabinet was a likely candidate for the rest of Kylo's DVD collection, and he stood shakily, setting his empty glass on the table as he passed.

There was nothing wrong with looking at someone's DVDs, he reminded himself, placing his hands on the cabinet's steel handles. But, it turned out the cabinet didn't hold DVDs.

It held an elaborate sword.

Kylo jogged noisily down the stairs, and Hux turned, cautious of his feet. "You have a sword," he pointed out.

"Yeah. It was my granddad's."

Kylo had obviously modified the cabinet to hold the sword up. He'd drilled holes and inserted dowels to support it by its guard, and added a small slat of wood to the cabinet under the tip of the scabbard. Clearly this was something for which he cared a great deal, although it looked fairly out of place in a Swedish pine and brushed steel cabinet, with its deep lacquered red scabbard, gold filigree, and jet inlay.

"That his helmet, too?" Hux asked of the battered brainpan on the cabinet's floor.

"Yeah. He was a marine."

"I'd guessed because of the sword."

"He was highly decorated,” Kylo said, pointing to a velvet-lined box containing a number of medals. At the centre was a purple heart.

"Well," Hux said, closing the cabinet doors. "Hoo-rah." He wrapped his arms around Kylo's neck, pulled him in for another kiss. Kylo's hands immediately went under his shirt, thumbs brushing his hip bones.

"You're a snoop, you know," Kylo accused, pulling away. "Poking your nose into all of my things. If I was a little more sober or a little less turned on, I might even be angry about that."

"Well it's a good thing that you aren't, or are, those things. Whichever," Hux answered. He pushed his face into Kylo's chest, pawed at the yellow and blue letters printed on it. Kylo pushed at Hux’s jacket until he shrugged it onto the floor, did the same with his shirt, and Hux shoved at Kylo’s hoodie until he pulled it off, his hair emerging ruffled and fluffy underneath. Hux combed hands into Kylo’s hair, fingers tangling in the loose curls, laughed when Kylo winced. “You should take me to your room, so I can snoop around in there, too. I’m nosy by nature, you know.” Hux tried to remember if he was a slutty drunk. Was that something people had said of him?

“I’ll show you where you can shove your nose,” Kylo muttered, and Hux laughed a little louder.

“Are you inviting me to eat your ass? Because that might be the smoothest request for a rimjob I have ever heard.” 

Kylo held him by the shoulders. “Yes. You, Hux Whateveryournameis, are cordially invited to eat my ass. Really lick it out, fuck me with your tongue, and then wrap your fist around my cock.”

“Honoured, naturally,” Hux replied, heading for the stairs. “‘Hux’ is my surname, by the way. Not my given name.” He feigned indifference, but Kylo’s suggestions had gotten to him. He could imagine what the man would look like; he’d seen him with his ass in the air enough times on camera. But this wasn’t something Kylo could do alone. How often had he been eaten out like that? Hux hadn’t done it that often, and he’d probably want Kylo to wash out first… 

He took his first step onto the stairs and remembered how much he hated climbing stairs after drinking. Kylo grabbed the rest of the six-pack from the table and caught up behind him.

“What’s your first name, then?” he asked, looming so close Hux could feel his body heat.

“You didn’t tell me /your/ first name,” Hux pointed out. “Now we’re even.”

“You know you get really sassy when you’re drunk?” Kylo needled, but Hux ignored him and made his way up the stairs, with Kylo behind. At the landing, Kylo took him by the wrist and dragged him into the last room on the left. 

Hux recognised the room, or at least part of it. He could see where Kylo usually filmed his show, but the bed had been pushed more to the centre of the room than he was used to seeing it. 

“Do you move your bed back and forth every other night for your show?” Hux asked, looking at everything Kylo kept on his bedside table. His webcam was there, and some earbuds, a tube of Aquaphor Hux assumed was for his tattoos, the aloe vera lube Kylo had gotten from an overseas subscriber, a hairband, a pack of Djarum blacks cigarillos, a yellow lighter, a jar of earplugs, an empty soda can on top of a well-worn copy of 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami. 

“Yeah. Makes the room feel better. Like feng shui or whatever.” 

/Or whatever/, Hux thought. “Well, you are the expert in Eastern religion, not me,” he said, pulling his undershirt off and dropping it in a chair. “Are you wearing anything under those shorts?” 

“No.” Kylo sat on the bed, shirtless and scarred, tattooed and barefoot, apparently wearing nothing but a pair of old basketball shorts, and looking to Hux like the greatest thing on Earth. “But you’ve seen my dick before.” 

“Not in person,” Hux answered archly. Something in him was annoyed that Kylo would downplay this moment. 

“Come here,” Kylo beckoned, thighs and arms open for him, and Hux kneeled on the edge of the bed, let Kylo hook fingers into his belt loops and tug him closer by the hips. For a moment it all felt so surreal, but Kylo gripped him through his trousers and he forgot about it. “I’ve only seen yours once, though,” he said, rubbing Hux blindly through his clothes. Hux sucked in a breath as he hardened under Kylo’s fingers, watched the man lick his lips. “And that’s not really fair. You’ve seen me do all kinds of stuff, right? Watching my show.” 

It was maddening. It wasn’t quite enough and he was tipsy and impatient. He unbuttoned his trousers, shoved the zipper down under Kylo’s hand, forced them down his thighs. Kylo stared at him, wrapped a hand around him through his boxer briefs, rubbed a thumb against the head. 

“I want to do so much fucking stuff to you, Hux. When you weren’t watching my show, I was thinking about you.” He looked up into Hux’s eyes, pinned him with his gaze. “All those people in the chat talking bout how much they want to fuck me, telling me to do stuff, and I was just fucking myself with my biggest dildo and thinking about you.”

“One look at my cock on-screen and you were hooked, is that it?” His voice came out a lot more breathy than he would have liked, and he leaned forward, into Kylo’s grip, nearly stumbled with his trousers around his thighs, caught himself against the headboard. “What kind of ‘stuff’ were you thinking?” he covered. 

Kylo’s face twitched into an almost-smile before he grabbed Hux around the waist, pulled him down on top of him. Hux made an indignant sound, but Kylo swallowed it, kissing him hungrily, pulling at his lips with his teeth. Hux groaned, pushed his cock against Kylo’s, found himself kicking his trousers and socks off, humping Kylo’s thigh like a damned adolescent. 

“I’d get down on my hands and knees for you, Hux. I would,” he hauled Hux up his body, moved his sluggish limbs so he straddled Kylo’s chest. “…do something like this.”

“You want me to ride your face?” Hux wanted to lift up, sure he was too heavy for this, but Kylo’s hands kept him where he was, gripping his hipbones. He found himself caught by Kylo’s lips again, staring as he licked them, swallowed, pressed them together while staring at Hux’s cock pressing against his shorts.

“Fuck, yes. Take your underwear off already, come on.” 

Hux struggled, on his knees, stretching the elastic farther than it was ever meant to go, but he managed, and Kylo didn’t even laugh at him. He seemed transfixed, watching Hux’s cock bob as he moved, before he was shoving his basketball shorts down and kicking them off the bed. Hux barely got a chance to look over his shoulder and see Kylo’s cock, hard and flushed, before Kylo was pulling him forward by the hips, and he had to catch himself against the headboard again. The heels of his hands stung and then Kylo’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock and he scrabbled uselessly at the painted wood. 

“No, wait, I wanted to, /oh/,” he mumbled, but Kylo flicked his tongue under the head, lifted him slightly so he could swallow him down. “Fuck, Kylo,” he panted, hips juddering as Kylo’s tongue, hot and wet, slid up his underside, flicked at the tip. “You’re good at that, aren’t you… Are you a cock-hungry slut, Kylo?” He looked down, and Kylo didn’t answer, just closed his eyes and sucked harder. Hux yelped, head lolling on his shoulders, before he shoved a hand into Kylo’s hair, forced him to hold still while he backed off. 

“Hey, what—” Kylo started, but Hux manoeuvred himself over and around Kylo so he was face down in Kylo’s belly, could lick his way down to his cock. “Oh shit,” Kylo groaned, fingers gripping the sheets, “I’ve never actually tried to sixty-nine before. This is… awkward. But I guess you’re just about tall enough.”

Hux huffed through his nose, dug his fingers into Kylo’s thigh, and waited for him to catch on. He felt Kylo’s large hands on his thighs, his hips, his ass, moving him into position so Kylo could lean up, lick him from below. It /was/ a little awkward, but he could feel Kylo’s breath hot on his skin, his fingers clutching and bringing Hux closer. His middle finger found the scar on his back, rubbed over it, and Kylo’s head hit the pillows again. 

“Is this that cigar burn? Oh fucking, shit, Hux, your mouth!” He pressed his face into his pillows, selfish, and bucked across Hux’s tongue until he pulled off. 

“It is.” He slid off of Kylo, sat naked on the bed. “Here,” he turned, bent forward. “Did you want to look?” He braced himself on all fours, felt Kylo roll to sit up. 

“You said before, it made you come when the lady, your dominatrix, pressed her thumb into the raw burn, rubbed the ash into it?” One of his hands went to mimic the motion, thumb digging into the scar. Hux felt a tingle under the scarred flesh, wondered if that was his burned nerve endings, or just psychosomatic. “I thought about that. Thought about you lighting a cigarette, holding it under my cock so I could feel the heat, you ashing onto my balls.”

Hux chuckled. “You just dive right in, don’t you. You’d never had anything like that until that strap I gave you, and now you’re fantasising about being a human ashtray?”

“Is that a thing?” Hux could feel Kylo’s breath again, ghosting over his tailbone. “Is that like, someone ashing their cigarette on you?”

“It usually involves ashing into the mouth. Maybe putting the cigarette out on the tongue. Feeding the butt to the sub.” He thought he knew where Kylo was going with this, raised his hips in invitation.

“Fuck, that’s intense.” Kylo’s nose brushed the top of his crease, and his breath was damp on his hole when he asked, “Are you into that?”

“I’ve not tried that, specifically,” Hux confessed, and then Kylo’s tongue was on his hole, slurping messily, fucking into him. Hux groaned, pressing his face into the sheets, feeling his cock drip onto the bed. 

“I even brought my cigarettes up here,” he mumbled against Hux’s rim. “When you said you’d come over,” his lips brushed Hux’s sensitive hole as he spoke, and Hux bit the duvet to keep from whining. “I don’t usually smoke up here but, fuck, Hux.” He gathered spit onto his tongue and pushed it into Hux, and Hux gasped, feeling it run out of his hole, drip down his balls. 

“You,” he tried to get ahold of himself. “You want me to burn you, scar you, mark you when you barely know me?” 

Kylo pulled away, rubbed the pad of his index finger against Hux’s loosened hole. “I want you to hurt me,” he said. “Don’t you want that too?”

Hux’s head was spinning. “Yes,” he hissed. “Yes I fucking do. Get on your back.” Hux got to his knees, leaned over Kylo, grabbed for his ostentatious black cigarettes and cheap lighter, and then sat back on his heels. Kylo, spread out on the bed, eyes wide-blown and glassy, chin wet from licking Hux out, cock hard and leaking against his belly, stared up at him. His cock twitched when Hux flicked the lighter, inhaled harsh, clove-flavoured smoke into his lungs. Hux licked his lips, tasted the sweetened paper. It crackled as it burned and he cast his eyes down on Kylo, raised his eyebrows as he took another drag. Kylo visibly shivered, his nipples peaking, his flesh breaking out in goosebumps. 

Kylo breathed in as if to say something, but didn’t, closed his mouth, swallowed thickly. He watched the hot burning end of that cigarillo, as Hux pressed it to his lips. Ash gathered, and Hux reached out, tapped it against Kylo’s right nipple. Kylo sucked in a breath. The heat was close, Hux knew, but not enough to burn. The ashes broke, rolled across Kylo’s skin, left black smudges in their wake. 

Hux blew smoke into the air, and it was thicker than he was used to, burned in his throat. “How was that?” he asked, and Kylo nodded, bucked his hips against the air. 

“Yes,” Kylo answered, brows pinched. “More.” 

Hux inhaled against the filter, held the sharp smoke in his lungs, exhaled slowly. He sat cross-legged, cock hard against his own thigh, and rested his smoking hand on his knee. The burning end of the cigarette sat close to Kylo’s skin, where it stretched thin over his ribs. It would be exceedingly painful to be burned there, and by the look on Kylo’s face, he knew it. But, Hux didn’t press the tip to him, just left it there, tauntingly close, so Kylo could feel it burning centimetres away.

When the ash gathered again, he raised his hand, tapped the end of the cigarette against Kylo’s navel, just to see the ash gather there. Kylo twitched again, and the burning tip singed his flesh, just a little, a small pink welt rising on Kylo’s stomach. He bit his lips and closed his eyes, his cock dribbling generously as Hux watched. 

“Oh, you /do/ like it,” Hux mused. In the back of his mind he knew they oughtn’t be doing this. Not buzzed, not without ice water and burn ointment to hand. But as Kylo moaned and nodded, he couldn’t help himself from skimming the lit end of his cigarette down the inside of Kylo’s thigh, leaving a pink trail behind, before bringing it back to his lips, taking another drag. Kylo gripped his pillow as the cherry tip burned him, keened through gritted teeth, then relaxed, panting, when the heat pulled away. He rolled his head to look at Hux, and Hux could see he’d begun to sweat, legs shaking. 

“Please, Hux, come on,” he begged, and Hux let the edge of the cherry tip just barely touch him under his left nipple before pinching it with the other hand. Kylo choked and shouted, tears wetting his eyelashes, back arching up off the bed. He was gorgeous, scars and tattoos stretching. When Hux thought about adding his own scar, his own mark on the canvas of Kylo’s body, his cock jerked against his thigh and he had to hold his breath. He straddled Kylo’s hips, brushed the crease of his ass across Kylo’s cock just to hear him moan. 

“Where do you want it? The burn.” He took a drag, blew smoke at the ceiling. “It’s only right to let you choose.”

“Unh,” Kylo grunted, hips bucking clumsily, rubbing his cock against any part of Hux he could reach. “Here,” he moved a hand from under his pillow, pointed to a spot above his hip, opposite the hot oil burn scar. “Right here.”

“Your viewers will see it, if I put it somewhere that obvious, near your hipbones.” Despite this protest, Hux felt his breath come a little harder, pressed back tighter against Kylo’s dick. He took another drag, ashed against Kylo’s sternum.

“Let them. I want my jeans to rub against it, so I feel it all day.”

“Fuck.”

“Gonna fuck with it when I jack off. It’s gonna scar up so bad.”

“/Fuck!/“

“And you can watch my show, and know where it came from, watch me claw into it when I come—”

Hux jabbed the cigarette into Kylo’s flesh, drank in his scream as the cherry tip burned him, felt Kylo’s hips buck powerfully beneath him, even as fresh tears trickled down his face. 

Hux left the crumpled butt on the bedside table, surveyed his work. The burn was raw and red, ash clinging to the burnt flesh, and he gripped Kylo’s hip, shifted his thumb so the skin pulled and stretched. Kylo shook beneath him, a quiet chant of “holy fuck, holy shit!” rising up in him. Hux reached for Kylo’s aloe vera lube, and laughed. 

“Remember, this lube was the reason we even started talking about cigarette burns,” he said, spreading some on his fingers. 

“Please don’t put that on my burn. I’ll put some Neosporin on it later. Some fuckin’ Bactine or some shit. just, don’t— oh, holy shit.”

He’d noticed that Hux had trailed his lube-slick fingers behind himself, was fingering himself open. It wasn’t the best angle, but Hux didn’t care about being perfectly loose and stretched. 

“Holy shit,” Kylo said again, one of his hands joining Hux’s, teasing Hux’s rim from the bottom while Hux opened himself up from the top. 

“Oh, Kylo, yes.” Hux removed his hand, let Kylo take over, fingering him open. His fingers were larger and longer than Hux’s, with thicker knuckles that made Hux shake as they breached him. Kylo was impatient as usual, worked a third finger into him perhaps a little too soon, and he winced.

“Too much?” Kylo asked, and Hux bore down on the pain.

“No, just, give me a bit more lube. Just a bit more— Kylo!” Kylo laughed, and shoved his fingers in a bit harder as if to spite him, but Hux spread his legs, leaned into it. “Give me your cock, Kylo. I’m ready for it.” He halfway thought Kylo would keep fingering him, just to tease him, or as payback for their video chat, but Kylo’s fingers were slipping out of him, fumbling for the lube, spreading it down his cock. He braced Hux’s hip with the other hand, and met his eyes.

“I thought you were gonna fuck /me/, the first time, to be honest,” Kylo said, guiding his cock to Hux’s slick hole, head bumping up against it. 

“You think I’m not?” 

Hux slid down on Kylo’s cock in one long press, rose up and sat down again, before tensing his muscles. Kylo’s eyes opened wide, and he stared unseeing at the ceiling, but Hux didn’t give him a moment to rest, just drew up again before thrusting down slowly.

“Don’t just sit there,” Hux commanded, slapping Kylo’s hands. “You /could/ help.” 

“Fucking /shit!/” Kylo yelped, gripping Hux’s hips with slippery fingers, and beginning to roll his hips up in time with Hux’s pushes down. “Oh my god, how are you doing that?” 

Hux smirked, and tensed his muscles again, if only to hear Kylo’s deep moan, feel him shudder. “Harder,” he said, and Kylo’s fingers dug in, hard enough to bruise, and slammed his hips down. “/Fuck,/ Kylo, just like that,” he panted, closing his eyes. His inner thigh brushed Kylo’s fresh burn, and Kylo jolted, hissing as he pushed deeper into Hux, ground his hips through the pain. Hux blinked his eyes open, appraised Kylo’s desperate face, and brought one hand down to cup the raw flesh, brush the ragged edges of the burn. Kylo gasped and arched, a litany of “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Hux, /yes/, oh fuck, it hurts, don’t stop,” bubbling out of him as he snapped his hips to meet Hux’s. One hand slid up to tease at Hux’s nipple, the way Hux had shown him he liked, and Hux keened.

He was so deep, so impossibly deep, and Hux really hadn’t been stretched enough, and it hurt, and Hux took it out on the burn, rubbing his thumb into the abused flesh. 

“You liked thinking about me coming to this kind of treatment?” he asked, circling the worst part of it with the pad of his thumb. Kylo nodded desperately, biting his lips. “How do you like it?” he rasped, voice choked with Kylo’s punishing thrusts within him, “Can you see why I couldn’t help myself? It was my fucking /birthday/ after all, and I thought I’d earned it, but here I’m just giving it to you for no good reason. You’re going to have this mark forever. You like that?” He jabbed the burn again, almost wishing it would bleed. Maybe when it had time to scab over, maybe the next night if Kylo did fuck with it during his show, it would crack and bleed. Hux wished he could be there to lick it up. He bounced in Kylo’s lap, angling the thrusts just right. Maybe another time he’d let Kylo fuck him as hard as he wanted, with Hux on his back, staring up at him. Maybe he’s get Kylo on all fours and fuck him slow and deep. He pinched the burned skin between thumb and forefinger, and Kylo howled, cock throbbing inside him.

“Fuck yes, Hux, oh shit that hurts, it fucking hurts, but I think I’m gonna come soon, I’m gonna come!” Hux felt like Kylo was going to crush his pelvis, both hands on Hux’s hips again as his thrusts sped up. He heard himself moaning, the embarrassingly high-pitched sound he made when he was getting fucked hard and rough, Kylo brushing his prostate over and over and causing light to go zinging behind his eyelids as he wrapped the other hand, the one not pressed into Kylo’s burn, around his cock.

“Are you going to come inside me, Kylo?” he panted harshly, stroking himself, wondering what it would be like if he came across the burn, how badly that would sting for Kylo. Kylo was back to nodding, eyes clenched shut. “Don’t you think you should ask before you nut inside someone?” He clenched down, heard the broken sound Kylo made as a result. “Before you fill me up with your load, before you spill into my hole, don’t you think you should ask?” 

“Please, please,” Kylo begged, so easily when he was this close, “Let me come in you, oh fuck your ass is so tight, I want to come in you so much, let me come in you, Hux, let me come—!” He teetered at the edge, breathing heavy, eyes wild as he pleaded, and Hux slapped his hand down over the burn.

“Come for me, Kylo,” he commanded, and Kylo stared up at him, each thrust up punctuated by a low whine in his throat, and Hux reared back and spat on him. 

Kylo gasped, and moaned, and thrust up so hard Hux was momentarily lifted off the bed. /Fuck/, Kylo was so /deep/, so fucking deep, and he could feel Kylo’s come splash hot inside him. “Hux, I’m coming, fuck,” he grit out, cock jerking inside Hux as Hux slammed down on it. He ground the heel of his hand into Kylo’s burn, stared at the glob of spit on his sternum, made Kylo sob through his orgasm, drew it out. Kylo dissolved into pitiful wailing and Hux felt his balls draw up, watching Kylo’s desperate face, and began to spill over his knuckles and onto Kylo’s belly, groaning, legs shaking. 

“Oh my god, yes,” Kylo croaked, and it took Hux a moment to glance up and realise Kylo was watching him, eyes still shining with unshed tears. “You look so fucking hot when you come. I dunno,” he swallowed, tried to get control of his voice while his cock twitched inside Hux, “I dunno if I told you before, but /fuck/, your face, when you come. You’re so hot, so fucking hot.” 

Hux grimaced, and another spurt of come landed on Kylo’s abdomen. Hux shivered, and one of Kylo’s hands left Hux’s hip to trail through the release splattered across his skin, into Hux’s saliva at the centre of his chest. “Fuck yeah,” he mumbled, before sucking one of his fingers into his mouth. Hux scrubbed at his face with his hands, and felt Kylo softening inside him.    
“I can taste the ash,” Kylo mumbled, chewing at his own fingers, panting and sweating, “Mixed in with your come, on my stomach. Next time you should just let me suck your cock so I can taste you for real.” 

Hux raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t look at me like that. There’s gonna be a next time. You fuckin’ /scarred/ me. I think you’re gonna want to do this again.” Hux only grunted as he shifted off of Kylo’s lap, tried not to wince at the deep ache of being fucked like that. If he was feeling it this much when he was, well, sobering up, he was sure it would be excruciating in the morning. 

Kylo groped around for his basketball shorts, wiped the come from his belly with them. “Bathroom’s down the hall if you want to clean up,” he said, offhand. “‘Course,” he looked up at Hux from under his brows, “If you want to walk around with my come in your ass, that’s fine too.” 

Hux clicked his tongue and picked up his underwear, walked carefully down the hall. This didn’t stop him from picturing it, obviously, from imagining himself putting a small plug up his arse to keep Kylo’s come inside, but Kylo didn’t have to know that, didn’t have to know he got warm from the thought of doing the very same thing to Kylo.

By the time he got back to the room, having passed a washcloth over his body and redressed in his underwear, Kylo was passed out, and snoring lightly. It wasn’t even that late he didn’t think, maybe nine or ten o’clock, but he’d left his phone downstairs and didn’t feel like going to retrieve it just to check the time. Carefully, he sat on the bed, and found himself inspecting all of Kylo’s visible tattoos. There was a large portrait in a frame dominating most of his right arm, and based on the peaked cap with its eagle, globe, and anchor insignia, he assumed the portrait depicted Kylo’s grandfather. He didn’t see much of a family resemblance, aside from, perhaps, the deep, penetrating stare. And, the scar over the eye. 

Kylo shifted in his sleep, and the sheets fell away so Hux could get a better look at the cigarette burn. He could still smell the clove-flavoured tobacco in the air, and made the short trek back to the bathroom for another damp cloth and whatever else he could find in the medicine cabinet. He held a hand under the dripping cloth as he padded back into Kylo’s bedroom, alcohol swabs and Neosporin in hand.

When Hux bent to clean out the burn, Kylo mumbled a bit, tried to shuffle away from the sting. He was gentle enough at first, but when it came to scrubbing ash out of the congealed burn, Kylo woke with a hiss, grabbing at the sheets.

“Fuck, haven’t you messed with that enough?” he complained, but Hux only clicked his tongue, applied a dollop of ointment, and covered it with a plaster. 

“Sources differ on the best way to treat cigarette burns, but just watch out for infection, especially if you decide to let it breathe.” 

“Nice pillow talk,” Kylo griped, pulling the covers back up. Hux rolled his eyes and traipsed downstairs to get his phone, at least. 

The thai food was all still spread over the table as they’d left it, and Hux shrugged and sat to have a few bites before he noticed Kylo’s phone still in the papasan chair where he’d dropped it. He glanced up the stairs. Well. It wasn’t like he was going to read the man’s texts…

He picked up the phone, found it didn’t even have a lock screen, and went to the contacts list. He copied Kylo’s number into his own contacts, and brought the phone upstairs. When he got there, Kylo had opened another one of the beers and was sitting in bed, drinking, and running fingers absently over the bandage near his hip. Without a word, Hux offered him his phone, and Kylo offered him another beer, and then lifted his computer from under the bed to load up Netflix and put on a movie they almost certainly wouldn’t watch. 

Hux fell asleep while Kylo half watched some badly written horror flick whilst scrolling through Facebook on his phone, and neglected to set an alarm. He woke uncharacteristically late, blinking at the light when he checked the time on his phone, and rolling out of the bed while Kylo snored quietly. Well, it was Wednesday so Kylo would have a show that evening, and Hux could check in then. And maybe watch to see what he did with his new burn. 

By the time he was dressed and had helped himself to a swig of Kylo’s mouthwash, it was already nearing noon. He didn’t really /have/ to go into the office… though he should at the very least send those files to Mr. Snoke. He could do that from home though. He walked the six blocks to his car, which sat baking in the midday sun, and made the sweltering drive back to the Palisades. 

When he got home nearly an hour later, it was to find an email from Mitaka asking if he was alright. It was…considerate on its face, but Hux didn’t like that his schedule was subject to scrutiny by subordinates. He emailed back saying he would be working from home, and proceeded to do just that, copying all of the images he’d gotten from Balloch into a Dropbox file and emailing Mr. Snoke a link, along with what research he’d managed to pull in the last few days. That alone barely took the space of thirty minutes, and he shifted his attention to a lower-priority case. He was fairly certain he could establish precedent with a case several years back, but he needed to go over the particulars again, and pulled a stack of deposition notes from his briefcase, along with an orange highlighter. 

When next he looked up, hours had passed, his eyes were burning, and the afternoon had gone into evening. The summer sun still streamed outside, but Hux felt oddly disoriented, blinking away images of small, grainy type and blazing orange ink to scrounge up some kind of meal from the pantry. When he checked his watch to be sure that yes it was nearing six o’ clock, and yes he had been sat at his desk for almost five full hours without having eaten anything all day, he saw that it was also Wednesday. He’d nearly forgotten. 

He sat in his living room with a cup of tepid tea and his favoured frosted animal cookies, flipping through the TV Guide with the remote. The blue columns scrolled on the screen but he was barely reading them, his eyes so tired and his mind elsewhere. This morning, he’d woken up in the bed of a man he barely knew, really, no matter how long their wine-and-thai-food chat had been. They didn’t even know each other’s given names. He’d pressed a scar into that man’s hip, burned and marked him forever, and he’d liked it. They’d both liked it. It had been incredible, the best he’d had in recent memory, and he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied going back to his life of assisted masturbation, watching Kylo get off for the camera. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t watch Kylo’s show though. 

He mindlessly munched his way through half the bag of biscuits, watching reruns of Parks and Rec and letting time pass. They hadn’t negotiated payment for last night. Did Kylo expect 400 credits for it? He hadn’t said. Hux checked the clock and saw it was nearing ten, took his empty cup and the mostly-empty bag of biscuits into the kitchen to keep from fidgeting. Would Kylo think he was desperate and needy if he was in the chat after they’d spent the night together? Or would he get put out and annoyed as he had when Hux hadn’t watched his shows? As he rinsed his mug he realised it probably didn’t matter. He was already thinking about it, about seeing that fresh burn on Kylo’s hip as he stroked himself for his viewers. 

He stripped on his way to the bedroom, hung his clothes over the back of a chair, and settled down in front of his computer. At five minutes to ten, he logged into the site. He watched Kylo’s icon, and waited for the indicator to switch to “online”.

And waited.

And waited.

At half ten, he began to wonder. He’d gone flicking through other tabs, but refreshed Kylo’s profile page over and over, only to be greeted with the same red square and the word “offline” under Kylo’s picture. At a quarter to eleven, he gave up. 

This happened sometimes, but Hux couldn’t help but think it may have had something to do with him. Perhaps the burn had gotten infected after all? At eleven, he signed out, and resolved not to think about it. Not until he glanced at his phone, charging by his bed, and remembered he /could/ text Kylo if he wanted to. 

He hadn’t asked Kylo to give him his number. He’d basically stolen it. That was the thought that stilled his hand, told him to have a little self control, and try sleep instead. He’d go into the office as normal tomorrow. He’d pretend like he wasn’t allowing an unhealthy obsession to grow in his gut. 

In the morning, he dressed for work, and didn’t even think about it except for when he shot Kylo a quick message about burn care on Skype. He thought perhaps he’d get an answer in the afternoon, as the man didn’t seem like a particularly early riser.

By the end of the day, Kylo hadn’t responded, and Hux deliberated over sending him another message that evening. Perhaps he was coming on too strong? He decided against it, and chastised himself again for letting this man get under his skin in such a way.

Kylo didn’t appear for Friday’s show, either.

When he logged in to check, Hux didn’t have any Skype messages from him. He debated asking if the burn was healing alright, or, if he had decided to take a break from doing shows for some reason, but couldn’t bring himself to type the words as he stared at his screen. Something odd was going on, he was nearly sure of it, and though it had only been a few days, he began to worry. It would be one thing if Kylo had regrets, and was avoiding Hux alone. But to skip out on his show twice in a row without any explanation on his page was a little unusual. Hux sent him another quick Skype message.

RedScare34: No show tonight? Fri 22:44

He received no answer. He looked at his phone. Kylo’s number was right there. He could text, even call, but would there be anything he could say that wouldn’t make him sound like a stalker? 

He went for the next best thing, and sent a message through the site to Kylo’s chat administrator. Hux hadn’t ever interacted with her personally, but he’d seen the no-nonsense way she dealt with anyone who started trouble in the chat, and had heard Kylo refer to her as ‘wielder of the mighty ban-hammer’. He hoped she didn’t think he was being a creep, and ban /him/ from the site. 

/RedScare34: Dear Phasmagorica,

/I wanted to ask if you’d heard anything from Kylo since Wednesday. I realise this may seem unusual but he and I are acquainted in person, and I haven’t been able to get ahold of him. Has he said anything to you about his absence?

/All my Best,  
/RedScare34

It seemed a little silly signing his message that way, but it would be the only name by which she knew him. In fact he wondered if she’d recognise him from his long tenure as a subscriber, and a frequent fixture in Kylo’s chats. That might raise some suspicion if she thought he was lying about knowing Kylo personally, and perhaps it was stretching the truth a little, but he wasn’t asking for any personal information after all.

She answered surprisingly quickly.

/Hello. Perhaps this is something you ought to discuss with him directly, as I don’t know all of the details. He said his father is sick so I expect he may be gone for a while. 

/Thanks, P. 

Hux rubbed at his chin, brows knit. He’d thought Kylo didn’t get on with his father, after the story of how he’d gotten the burns on his abdomen. Well… the ones Hux hadn’t caused, himself. Had he gone to take his father soup or something? Extended an olive branch?

He eyed his phone again. Should he say something? He didn’t know if that would be welcome, well-wishes from a man Kylo had fucked once, and who had gone sneaking around asking other people about him rather than growing a pair and /calling/. What could he even say? He hadn’t even known how to act when his own father had been in hospice, in his dying days. People kept telling him how sorry they were for him, how hard it must be for him, but the worst of it was how little he’d felt at the time, other than annoyance at having to stand there and numbly accept their pity. And it would be odd for him to bring up the fact he knew Kylo’s father was unwell. He was being a creep and he knew it.

Hux trudged out into the living room, and clicked on the television to escape his mind for a moment, and was met with a familiar face on-screen that nearly caused his heart to leap out of his throat. The local evening news reported that Speaker Organa-Solo had walked out of Congress while it was still in session earlier that week, and that sources had confirmed it was not an act of political protest. She was expected to return home to California’s 33rd district, with her husband in critical condition after he’d collapsed from an aneurysm at work. 

Employees of Mr. Solo’s business, a shipping company based out of La Crescenta, were interviewed, but Hux wasn’t listening. He’d staggered to the sofa and collapsed into it. He knew it wasn’t any of his business, but… an aneurysm? As far as Hux knew, the majority of people who had a ruptured aneurysm died shortly thereafter. 

It wasn’t any of his business. Hux didn’t mean a damned thing to Kylo. 

He picked up his phone and called Kylo, anyway.


	6. Fly Away, Fly Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was this supposed to be a meaningless hookup?

He wasn’t answering his phone. Hux had rung him once Friday night, before taking a capful of ZzzQuil and forcing himself to sleep. Saturday morning before noon he’d called five times in the course of an hour and Kylo still wasn’t answering. Hux reassured himself it was because he wasn’t in Kylo’s phone, and maybe Kylo didn't answer calls from unknown numbers.

If he were Kylo, he would probably be upset over the invasion of privacy that had led to Hux even having his number. If he texted saying, ‘It’s Hux, I stole your number but I saw the news and I want to know if you’re alright’, he’d look like a crazy person. And that would be hypocritical, as well, after he’d accused Kylo of behaving like a lunatic. But he couldn’t just… /give up/.

All things considered he would probably make a fairly good detective. Much of legal work, after all, was research, establishing precedent, using what you know, or can infer, to find out what you don’t know.  He was prepared to apply those skills to his personal life. All things considered, he would probably make a fairly good stalker as well, but he wasn’t going to put too fine a point on it. He began to rack his brain.

First, he knew where Kylo lived. He could go to his apartment, knock on the door, maybe bring something comforting. Biscuits? Would that be more, or less agreeable than texting him? Well, at least he wouldn’t have to explain knowing where Kylo lived. Kylo had gotten himself into that one. He grabbed his keys and decided to swing by Gelson’s on his way to WeHo.

It was a long drive, and traffic was atrocious. The shortbread biscuits (he’d never call them ‘cookies’ as long as he lived) would at least be oven-warm when he finally got to Kylo’s place. He sat in traffic with the air-con blasting, and stewed. What if Kylo wasn’t there? What if he didn’t answer the door? What if he told Hux he was being a creep and threatened to call the cops?

Well, he’d said before he didn’t have the highest opinion of the police.

In any case, he turned off the freeway and tried not to let his heart beat out of his chest, tried not to think too much about what in the hell he was doing. He probably didn’t mean anything to Kylo besides a warm hole. Pocket money. Still he drove around in circles, the same as before, to find parking near Kylo’s building, and walked, head held high under the indifferent sun with a package of biscuits and very little idea of what he was going to say.

All the lights were off when he approached the house. That wasn’t in itself too odd, Hux told himself, it being early afternoon and everything. All he could do was knock.

He rapped solidly on the door with his knuckles, before noticing the buzzer, and trying that. The door’s slick sky-coloured paint was cool against his fingers, shaded by an overhang, and he stood there in the blue shadows, waiting. He tried the buzzer again. The only sound was a flock of those green parrots in a nearby tree, less incongruous in a date palm, perhaps, than in a white oak in London. They chattered and flapped somewhere unseen, and he tried to tune them out, leaned nearer to the door to see if he could make out any movement from within. He couldn’t hear anything, and, with a glance around to check for curious neighbours, he tried the doorknob.

It was locked, and he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Had it been unlocked, would he have simply strode into Kylo’s living room as though he belonged?

Perhaps Kylo had gone to the hospital. That would make sense. That would be the ordinary thing to do. Hux’s phone rang and he nearly dropped it in his haste to answer. The screen read “no caller ID” and he walked out onto the sidewalk before answering, he hoped, in his customary fashion.

“Good afternoon, you’ve reached Armitage Hux.”

There was a crackle of static, and Hux clenched his free hand, held his breath.

“So sorry I haven’t gotten back to you about those images you sent over,” came the raspy croak over the line. Hux’s shoulders sagged, like someone had cut his strings.

“Not a problem, Mr. Snoke. What can I do for you?” He couldn’t believe he’d gotten so worked up.

“Well, it’s just that my joints aren’t what they used to be, and I find long flights more and more difficult now…” He paused, waited for Hux to conjure up a platitude.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” was the best Hux was able to do just then. Snoke coughed, gasped harshly for a moment, then seemed to get ahold of himself.

“I’m just not sure I could manage a flight to New York without becoming completely exhausted,” Snoke went on, while Hux tried to follow. Hux supposed he could arrange shipping for whatever interested Mr. Snoke at the Whitney Biennial, just as he had done for the Summer Exhibition at the R.A., but Mr. Snoke had to come around to that point, first. “And so,” Snoke took a rattling breath, and Hux paced on the sidewalk, realised he’d wandered down the block, turned a corner aimlessly, without having meant to. “I hope you won’t mind making the trip in my stead.”

Hux stumbled, caught himself, struggled to answer. “Sir, I’m not sure that’s—”

“Don’t worry,” Snoke cut in, speaking over Hux in a tone that brooked no argument, “I’ll make all the arrangements. It will be exactly like travelling for a deposition. I’m sure you do that from time to time.”

What did Snoke want him to do in New York? The Biennial wouldn’t be until March of the next year, what on earth could Hux accomplish nearly a year early?

“Nearly half of the participating artists are based in New York this year,” Snoke went on. “I think it’s a little heavy in that direction but at least it makes things simpler for those of us who wish to purchase work before the artists are officially announced. I’ll send you the list of artists I’m interested in.”

“Sir, you’re sending me to New York to purchase work?” This wasn’t at all what he did. He wasn’t an art dealer. He was no Ludwig Grüner, setting himself up as art advisor to the Royals. He had other things to work on, and— Now of all times, when he was pacing up and down the block outside the home of a sex worker he’d fucked once and who, by the way, was employed by the very man who was insisting he fly cross country?

“Well, as I say, I don’t think I’m up to the task anymore.” Snoke punctuated this assertion with another wet cough and Hux held the phone away from his ear until the hacking subsided. “I trust your judgement, Armitage. But we must work quickly. I’m sure others have managed to work out who might be in the show based solely on who the curators are, and I want to get in before the names are announced and the price of the work triples.”

Ah, so that was it. Buying before the artists could charge more. Hux had wondered why Snoke had gone out of his way to purchase the work of young artists at the Royal Academy’s Summer Exhibition, when he could clearly afford to purchase blue-chip works at Christie’s exclusively, if he so chose. He’d doubted it was out of any act of sponsorship for the struggling, fledgeling artists themselves and had assumed it was out of some intangible sense of aesthetics. It all made sense now, why so little of the art that the man purchased decorated his home. It was likely all in some climate-controlled vault somewhere, accruing value until it could be sold at auction for ten times the price Snoke paid.

“And if someone else has already purchased the work you wanted, sir?”

“Then go to the artist’s studio, or gallery if you have to. Call me. Purchase something you think will have an equal value.”

Hux wasn’t an art market analyst. He wasn’t a curator. His specialisation as an Art Historian was Modern British Art, particularly in the post-war period.  
And yet.

“When should I expect to fly?” Hux passed Kylo’s house again as he continued pacing, tried not to panic.

“I can get you on a flight tomorrow evening. Can you sort everything out with your office before then?”

It would be cutting it close, but Hux knew better than to say ‘no’ to Walter Snoke. He could probably call Mitaka, ask him to handle things until Hux returned.

Perhaps being away would finally let Hux get Kylo off his mind.

“Of course, sir.”

“Wonderful.” He didn’t sound as if he’d had any doubt that Hux would agree. “By the way,” Snoke wheezed after a pause, “Did you hear about that Leia Organa leaving Congress while it was still in session? Terrible.” He was barely making a perfunctory show of sympathy, and sounded more like he was relaying choice gossip. Hux’s heart seized.

“I did,” he said.

“Perhaps this will give the /real/ politicians a chance to get something done. Did you know her son works for me?”

Hux felt like his blood had turned to ice. “Oh?”

“Indeed. And I guarantee you, his mother wouldn’t like the kind of work he does. She’ll find out one day, and it will be very… interesting, to say the least.”

Would he be blackmailing Speaker Organa-Solo or Kylo himself? Hux fought his nerves to stay impassive.

“I’m sure it would, sir.”

The conversation lulled into silence, and then Snoke cleared his throat, and said he’d wire funds into Hux’s account for the purchase of artworks. Hux could only agree, and wait for Snoke to end the call. After Snoke hung up, Hux found himself standing on the sidewalk, blinking into the middle distance.

Then, he called Kylo again.

He listened as the phone rang and rang, then, for once, a soft click of static and a voice on the other line.

“Hello?” It wasn’t Kylo’s voice at all. What was going on? “Hello, is anyone there?”

Hux heard background noise. Someone asking, ‘What are you doing?’ followed by the voice on the line saying, ‘I dunno, someone’s been blowing up this phone,’ then, into the receiver again, “Hello, is anyone there?”

“Is this—-” An immense roar of noise crackled through the speakers, and Hux winced, before trying again. “Is Kylo there?”

“Uh. What kinda car do they drive?”

What kind of question was that? Why did someone else have Kylo’s phone and not know him by name?

“Black Audi R8. Red detailing. Big scrape on the rear fender. Can you just tell me where he is?” This was becoming very strange, but Hux didn’t want to give up now that he actually had another person on the line.

“Oh.” Away from the receiver, the man shouted, ‘Hey Poe, you seen a black Audi?’

There was some indistinct noise, and then the voice came back, “Yeah, uh, there’s a black Audi on the road. So. You should probably call back later. He’s gonna be a while. I gotta go. Uh. Bye.” Three beeps, and the call ended.

Half a second later, he knew where Kylo was.

Kylo had mentioned it once and it took some frantic googling as he sat in his car and tried query after query to find the right location. After that, he took off.

It wasn’t a long drive. Of course, he didn’t know what part of the road he’d find the racers on, but he thought he’d know it when he saw it. Or, he’d hear it. In any case, he began the drive up the winding road, keeping his eyes peeled.

What would he say when he got there? ‘Hello, we fucked once and you didn’t even charge me for it so that makes me think I should track you down and make sure you’re alright after your father’s aneurysm’? ‘I’m flying to New York tomorrow for I don’t know how long so I wanted to find you before I left and—’ and what, check on him? Say goodbye? Say thank you?

Hux continued the drive, motorcyclists occasionally buzzing around his car. Twisted metal alongside the road and rusted wrecks in the canyon did not seem to be any kind of deterrent, and Hux suddenly had the sudden terrible thought of a mangled Audi smoking in the ravine. He gripped the steering wheel harder, came around a bend, and there, across the canyon on another stretch of road, saw that highly-modified blue Toyota, drifting almost effortlessly around a hairpin curve. He almost wanted to floor the gas himself.

A look-out spot seemed to be the racers’ gathering place, based on the sheer number of spoilers and decals decorating the cars parked there. Hux pulled into the dirt, his car absolutely sticking out amid the Subarus in world royal blue, the Mitsubishis hugging the ground.

As he climbed out, not yet seeing any sign of Kylo or his Audi, a few of the local crowd approached him.

“You gonna race your C-Class, man?” asked one, and Hux shook his head.

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Hey, I’ve seen you before!” said another, and Hux turned, surprised. He couldn’t say the young man looked at all familiar, but then he held up a phone, and there Hux was. It still wasn’t a good photo of him, the look of confused surprise no more attractive than it had been on Tuesday night, when Kylo pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips and took the photo. “This phone has been ringing like crazy. Wait, did we talk earlier?”

Hux looked harder at the man, at his straight white teeth and stylishly cropped hair, and wondered if he had seen him somewhere before.

“Yes, I… perhaps. Do you—”

“Hey, since uh, you know the guy this belongs to, how ‘bout you hold on to it for him, and give it to him when he gets back. He just kinda left it over there…” The man gestured vaguely to some fold-out chairs clustered in a small line by a traffic cone, and in one of them was another man Hux thought he might have seen before. He was bent over, vigorously scratching the belly of an elated Australian cattle dog. The phone was pressed into Hux’s hands. Hux caught the man by the wrist before he could go.

“Do you know when he will be back?” Hux asked, intent, pinning the man with his gaze. He knew well what the full force of his stare could do to someone, and the man visibly drew back at it.

“No, he’s, we’re not—”

A car screamed past them and anything the man could have said was drowned out by that, and Hux’s screech of “/Hell’s TEETH!/” that followed, but Hux dropped the man’s wrist and cut his eyes at the far curve of the road because he thought, maybe, he could see Kylo’s car in the distance. It tore around that hairpin turn and Hux held his breath. He reminded himself that Audis were built for fast driving, tried to relax his shoulders.

The back end of Kylo’s car did not quite follow the front. Tires skidded on the asphalt, and Hux was too far away to hear it but he wouldn’t have been able to anyway, with the rush of blood in his ears slowing everything to white noise and indistinct shouting. Dust billowed as Kylo’s car narrowly missed a railing, tires losing traction on the dirt, the whole body of it wobbling, and Hux took off before he knew what he was doing, running alongside the rails, hugging the edge of the cliff. Kylo was going to lose control. He was going to get worse than that scar across his face. Hux could see the sheer drop on Kylo’s right, mere inches away from the car, and if the car couldn’t cleave to the road then it would pitch over the edge, roll down the cliff, twist and contort and catch fire and entomb Kylo in it.

Hux was not accustomed to running. He was aware every second that another car could come up behind him, splatter him against the guardrail. His lungs burned with the effort of running on the road, and the curves made the distance that much longer, but by the time he caught up, Kylo had pulled over to another overlook, was standing outside the car, staring over the edge. He turned when Hux’s feet crunched into the gravel.

“Hux? What the fuck?”

Panting to catch his breath, sure he was sweaty and red-faced and unattractive, Hux struggled to find his voice.

“I hope you weren’t thinking of jumping,” Hux warned, and he couldn’t quite make it sound like a joke.

“What are you doing here?” Kylo asked, dodging Hux’s comments entirely. Then, running fingers into his tangled hair, “What the fuck?”

Kylo looked awful. Sallow and unwashed and slightly clammy. Hux didn’t know if he should approach or not. He’d left the biscuits in the car.

“I have your phone,” Hux said, offering it. He didn’t comment on the lock screen image. Didn’t say he’d called seven times in two days. Kylo looked at him for several long moments, and then finally, plucked the phone from Hux’s fingers, crammed it into his pocket.

“Did you follow me here?” He sounded exhausted.

“No, I… figured out where you might’ve gone.”

“I guess you’ve seen the news.” He wasn’t looking at Hux anymore. He stared off over the curves of the road, between the trees, into the texture of the canyon. He didn’t even seem to really see it.

“Yes.”

Another car zipped past them, and Hux jumped but Kylo barely seemed to notice. He watched it impassively as it darted around curves and out of sight.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kylo said finally. He walked stiffly back to his car, gestured roughly to the passenger side door. Carefully, Hux climbed in.

“I left my car down the road a bit,” Hux said, once Kylo had started the ignition. There was a mostly-empty pack of Kylo’s cigarettes in the cup holder. Hux wondered briefly if it was the same pack from Tuesday night. The one Kylo had brought up so he could be burned and scarred. He wondered if Kylo was taking care of his burn.

Kylo only nodded, careful of any oncoming cars, and after a few heart-stopping moments where Hux anticipated a collision around every turn, Kylo pulled into the little meeting place where other racers were still gathered. He ignored them all, and looked at Hux.

“Did you come here for a reason, or…?” It was like someone had taken the batteries out of him. Hux decided the man deserved a little honesty, even if it wasn’t in his nature.

“You missed two shows, and then you weren’t answering your Skype, or phone.”

“You were worried about me?” Kylo aimed a rueful smile nowhere in particular. “Well. I’m not dead yet,” he muttered, killing the engine. “I just… didn’t want to be at home. You understand.”

Hux nodded. Then, “Come to mine?” He didn’t know if that would help. He didn’t know why he offered.

“Your house?” This time, Kylo did look at him. His eyes looked so hollow, Hux didn’t know what to do with himself. Kylo sighed. “Alright. I’ll follow your car.”

Hux levered himself up out of the Audi, unlocked his car and saw the biscuits. Maybe he’d offer them when they got to his. With tea or something. Like he was someone’s nan. He sighed and shook his head, and started the car.

It was odd having Kylo follow him, seeing the ostentatious car in his rearview. It felt like he was not quite alone, like someone was there with him, but they couldn’t speak to one another. Kylo followed well. Even in the traffic on Sunset and the winding roads nearer Hux’s home, Kylo remained behind him. When they pulled into the driveway, Hux waited for Kylo to park, grabbed the biscuits and headed for the door. Kylo came up behind him as he fumbled with his keys.

“Nice place,” he said.

“Thank you,” Hux answered. “Hold these.” He pushed the package of biscuits into Kylo’s hands and was finally able to concentrate enough to get his own damn door open.

“What’s with the shortbread?” Kylo asked, stepping over the threshold and waiting for Hux to lead the way into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“Don’t you like biscuits?” He opened a cabinet, pulled out his favoured Yorkshire Gold but then turned to Kylo, standing awkwardly in the centre of the kitchen, conspicuously not touching anything. He was wearing the same jeans he’d worn for their first ‘date’, and his simple black shirt was a bit sweaty. Maybe he felt too unclean? “Do you want tea? I have black and green.” Truthfully, he never drank the green. It had been a gift from a colleague, and he had no idea if it was any good. It probably wouldn’t go well with biscuits, at any rate.

“Uh. Black.”

Thank goodness.

“Trust you to always go with the black option,” he tried to tease, but Kylo said nothing. Hux lapsed into silence along with him, went about making the tea, left the milk on the counter so Kylo could add his own. Kylo carried the biscuits into the living room along with his tea, set both on the low coffee table in front of the television, then collapsed into the couch in silence. Hux, more deftly, settled himself nearby. The atmosphere was completely different from the last time they were on a sofa together, and Hux was struck by the quiet, the tension that came from somewhere outside of themselves. Hux opened the biscuits, nudged them towards Kylo.

“Kylo, I… want to offer you sympathy but it turns out I’m really rubbish at it.” He folded his hands between his knees, concentrated on the knit of his fingers rather than staring at Kylo’s profile, his brow writ with emotion, his eyes seeming to stare through the wall and into unfathomable space.

“It’s…” Kylo trailed off. Maybe he was going to say ‘it’s fine,’ and then realised it wasn’t. Hux waited, holding his mug, sipping the milky tea, wondering what he could possibly say. He wasn’t a friend, to Kylo. He was barely even a fuckbuddy. He waited to see if Kylo would say anything else, give him a hint.

“It’s my fault,” Kylo said.

Hux put his mug down.

“It’s my fault. Because, because I hit my dad that time. I knocked him out. He hit his head, and, and he’s probably been bleeding in the brain ever since, until—”

Kylo’s eyes glittered, and Hux wondered if maybe he should reach out, touch him. “You can’t know that,” he said instead, turning towards Kylo on the couch. “Aneurysms can be totally random and unpredictable. You can’t know.”

“I know it,” Kylo forced out, strangled. “I just do, okay?!” Once the first tear fell, there was no stopping them. His stringy hair fell into his face as his head hung and tears splashed against the upholstery. “I shouldn’t’ve hit him. I fuck up everything I touch!”

This time, Hux did reach out, placed a hand on Kylo’s knee. He was entirely out of his depth. Kylo took several shuddering breaths, choked, sobbed.

“And I just left him there on the floor. I left him. He could’ve died that day and I would’ve just left him to fucking… I wouldn’t have seen it.”

“You had an injury of your own to deal with,” Hux offered, knowing this was probably the wrong thing to say.

“And now he’s in a fucking coma, and he’s gonna die and I was never able to fucking /nut up/ enough to tell him fucking anything,” Kylo gurgled through his tears. “We haven’t had an honest fucking conversation since I was fifteen and, and— /God/ this is so fucked. I can’t believe this happens to people every fucking day and no one gives a shit.” He wiped at his face but it didn’t help. There was a vein standing out in his forehead from the effort of talking and not screaming.

Hux rubbed Kylo’s knee, remembered the long, quiet hours when his father had been in hospice, the tubes and the bags of fluids, the plastic curtains on temporary rails. He remembered bringing his schoolwork to the hospital, eating cold sandwiches the orderlies had brought for his father but his father was too sick to eat, too tired, too weak. He pushed the tray away more often than not, and so Hux ate them, bland sandwiches and glutinous soups on pale pink plastic plates.  But, they’d known it would end like this. Cancer isn’t known for being swift or merciful, and so Hux had watched it happen. Watched the man who had intimidated him his whole life waste away into something small and shrivelled and pathetic, a husk of himself. When they put him on morphine for the pain, he often drifted, spoke to Hux in a watery voice that didn’t sound like him, sounded like it came already from beyond the shroud of death. He talked nonsense, then. He didn’t know who Hux was. Hux knew it would be the wrong time to bare any of the old wounds they’d picked at together over the years. He’d kept them under wraps. He buried his hurt and his guilt together. He didn’t know how to feel, and ended up numb and silent, unable to taste the brown bread, the white cheese, the sliced deli meats on those pink plastic plates. He couldn’t explain any of that to Kylo. He didn’t think it would sound like empathy. Not coming from Hux. He knew what he was like. If he couldn’t offer any emotion to his own father, how could he do it for Kylo, whom he barely knew?

“When I was a kid,” Kylo said, his voice thick and deliberate, “my dad gambled a lot. Especially when my mom was in Washington. She’d go away and he’d take me with him to the Indian casinos. I wasn’t allowed on the gambling floor, so I’d sit in the restaurant and drink soda until I felt sick. Sometimes the waitresses felt bad for me and they’d give me some french fries or an ice cream or something. This was like… I was young, you know. I don’t even know how much money dad lost that way. Mom never said anything about it, even though she probably knew. Not in front of me, anyway, and I could hear them when they fought, so. I used to wonder what would happen if I just walked out the back door of the restaurant, started walking down the highway until I found somewhere else to be. It could be hours before he would’ve noticed I was gone. One time I was sitting there in the booth, drawing on a napkin or some shit and my dad comes into the restaurant with some big guy, and the big guy was threatening him, showing him the gun in his jacket, telling him he better get his money,” Kylo licked tears from the corner of his mouth, wiped at his nose, “—and my dad slides into the booth next to me, says something like, ‘you’re not gonna talk like that in front of my kid, are you?’ and the guy leaves and we never went back to that casino again. Other ones weren’t as nice. Other ones didn’t care if I was on the gambling floor when I was ten. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I guess he stopped doing that somewhere along the way, or I got old enough to be at my uncle’s school instead, but. I’ve never asked him why the fuck he’d take a ten year old along when he was playing cards with these guys who were probably in like, the fucking mafia. These guys were not nice to me, long story short.”

“Your Uncle has a school?” This was likely also the wrong thing to say, and Kylo hiccupped.

“Not like, a real school. He’s got this like, hippie bullshit retreat in Ojai. It’s like, vegan buckwheat pancakes and kale smoothies. I got in a fight with him, too, when I was like, sixteen. Didn’t knock him out, at least, so I probably haven’t given him an aneurysm.” He talked through his sobs, swiped angrily at his eyes. He hadn’t yet told Hux to stop touching him, so he didn’t. Long, sure strokes halfway up Kylo’s thigh and down to his knee again. It was all he had to offer, and he had the vague thought that perhaps this was why Kylo had turned down Gracias Madre when they planned their first meeting. Some grudge against vegans. “They, my parents, thought going and doing yoga in a yurt would help me be less angry. It fucking didn’t, and now my dad’s in a fucking hospital because of me.” He wiped at his face again, and Hux was worried he’d begin clawing. “You probably don’t— Why am I telling you this?” Hux just continued to pet his knee, hoping that would do something, get through to him somehow. “I guess I’m telling you because I can’t tell him. He’s in a /fucking/ coma. He won’t hear me. I can’t tell him anything, now.”

The tears came hard after that, and Hux just let him cry. He watched Kylo rock back and forth, felt the unspoken words in the air: /I can’t tell him goodbye/. After a while, Kylo slumped, sniffling, towards Hux, and Hux, despite himself, let Kylo put his head in his lap and sob into the fabric of his trousers. He petted Kylo’s greasy hair, stroked down his back,  over and over until Kylo went quiet. Wondering how he was going to get out from under Kylo as he slept, Hux began looking around, making a plan of action to ease a throw pillow under Kylo’s head, but then Kylo spoke.

“I want to feel something besides this… whatever this is. It’s been days and I can’t… It’s just the same shit over and over. I want to feel something else. Please, Hux.” He rolled over, looked at Hux with those deep, intense eyes of his, rimmed red and puffy, and Hux swallowed.

“What do you want me to do?” His hand was still curled in Kylo’s dirty hair, loose locks of it coiled around his fingers. Kylo closed his eyes, pressed his face into Hux’s hand.

“I want you to fuck me. I just want to feel good for a little while. Maybe that’s fucked up, but. You know, you don’t owe me shit, so. You don’t have to ever see me again after this, if you… /fuck/.” The curse was a broken one, as he turned his face more into the cup of Hux’s palm, tried to shut out the world. “Please,” he mumbled against Hux’s skin, and it tickled, made him want to pull his hand away, but he didn’t.

“Shall we go to the bedroom?”

Kylo nodded, and as they stood, Hux noticed Kylo hadn’t touched his tea, or the biscuits. He led him down the hallway toward the bedroom.

“I saw this room the first time we Skyped,” Kylo noted as he shuffled into the room, kicked off his pointy-toed ankle boots, made his way over to the bed. He sat down heavily, clasped his hands between his knees, looked at Hux like he was waiting for him to throw out a life preserver. Hux approached as well, toeing off his shoes, wondering if this was a terrible idea, if Kylo was too unstable just then to do this. Did it make him a sick fuck if he was able to get off with Kylo when Kylo was such a fucking mess?

Kylo gripped him by the shirt, pulled him down, kissed him like he needed it. Maybe he really was doing Kylo a favour.

Kylo’s fingers went to Hux’s buttons, pried at them fruitlessly until Hux brushed his hands away, did it himself. He shed the shirt on the floor, climbed over Kylo in his undershirt, straddled his lap at the edge of the bed. Kylo rolled them over into the centre of the duvet. He nudged at Hux's legs, pushed him back until his thighs weren't spread over Kylo's hips anymore.

“Not this time,” Kylo said, staring up at him, his hair an inky spill on the coverlet, “You, last time you were. I want you to fuck me. I want you inside. Come on.” He seemed to consider for a moment. “I know you talked about it before, a couple times. Please.”

Hux backed up on the bed, pulled his undershirt up over his head, watched while Kylo wrenched off his sweaty tee and flung it across the room. Kylo opened his knees and Hux moved forward again, bent to kiss down Kylo’s neck. He licked the salt from his skin and Kylo arched against him, ground their hips together.

“You wear the tightest jeans I have ever seen,” Hux mumbled into Kylo’s shoulder, hands running down Kylo’s sides, failing to hook into his waistband. Kylo nodded, and Hux felt it against his face. Kylo’s hands smoothed down his back, found the scar to the right of his tailbone, ran a nail around it. It tingled and itched down deep in his skin, sent a ticklish jolt to his cock. He shivered, pulled back a little. “Let me see your burn.”

Kylo huffed, but stretched back so the waist of his jeans was pulled down a bit. Kylo didn’t have a bandage over the injury, and it was shiny in the centre, glossy pink around the edges. It seemed to be healing alright.

“Have you been taking care of it?”

“I wash it. I put Neosporin on. You know. It was deeper than this one.” He outlined the mottled oil burn with a fingertip. “Definitely feels different. And it reminds me of a good fuck, so.” His voice had gone flat and toneless, as he felt over the ridges of the hot oil scar, and Hux knew Kylo must be thinking about the day he got it, when he hit his father hard enough to knock him out. Hux took Kylo’s hand from the scar, laced their fingers, kissed Kylo’s fingertips.

“Bet you didn’t bring that cock strap I bought you this time,” he said, and Kylo shook his head.

“Wasn’t planning this, you know.”

“No, but… you know I do have my own… /accessories/ if you like?”

Kylo’s eyes looked like he wanted to smile, but his mouth wasn’t cooperating. Hux tried to just press on.

“I could bring them out. You could pick, if you wanted to. Or… I could pick, if you’d rather.” Perhaps Kylo didn’t want to think. He’d gone to a dungeon with that goal in mind before. Some people worked out for endorphins (it certainly looked like Kylo saw the inside of a gym regularly enough), and some people had other methods. Hux knew there were those who thought those were poor BDSM practices but Hux believed… people have to do what they need. He also believed this had the potential to go badly.

“Let me look?” He squeezed Hux’s hand, and Hux peeled off of him, went to the closet to retrieve his toy box. He set it on the foot of the bed and opened it for Kylo to bend forward and look inside, watched while Kylo lifted objects out one after another. “Probably not this,” Kylo said, inspecting the Wartenburg wheel before placing it back in the box. “Uh, not these,” he said of the nipple clamps. “Not tonight at least.” He dug around some more, offered no comment on the leather cuffs, the crop, either of the floggers, the short bamboo cane, or the snake whip, but he said no to the paddles, then asked, “What’s this?” to a semi-flexible rubber rod about the diameter of a quarter.

Hux took it from his hands, smacked it against his own palm a few times. “It’s a modern take on a truncheon, a— a billy club. Slightly more give than your typical wooden model, but still packing more ‘thud’ than most of these other toys. I usually prefer ‘sting’ as you might see from the crops and floggers and whips…” he bent it slightly in his hands, showing Kylo its resistance. “It leaves lovely welts though.” Kylo shook his head, went back to the box.

“You don’t have any other cock straps in here,” he observed.

“No, that was… just for you. I’ve had them used on me before, but I don’t own any, myself.” He dropped the rubber rod back into the box, let Kylo poke around for a while longer. “Do you have any ideas?” he asked, as Kylo came back around to things he’d already seen before.

“Uh,” Kylo answered unhelpfully. “You pick. Just don’t use any of the things I said no to. And—” He paused for half a second, glanced down, “don’t blindfold or gag me.”

“Of course not,” Hux answered earnestly. “I wouldn’t do that without asking you.”

“Any of this other stuff is cool though.”

Considering the box, Hux remembered their first Skype call. He’d outlined a scenario in which Kylo was bound to the bed and whipped. Maybe he could…

Kylo shuffled to the edge of the bed, began inching his jeans and underwear off in one go, and when he was naked, he stretched out again, nudged Hux with his foot.

“Take your pants off already,” he demanded, impatient as usual. Hux obeyed, though, slid out of his trousers, but kept his boxer briefs on for the time being. Kylo wasn’t hard yet, and he wanted to work on that before getting too distracted by his own needs. He started with one hand sliding up Kylo’s leg to his inner thigh, rubbing there before moving to his hip, his ribs, his chest, up to his shoulder, down his arm, thumb making gentle circles in his inner elbow, down the forearm to wrap around the wrist, pull it up, kiss the palm, the wrist, the inner elbow, the collar bone.

Kylo hummed contentedly, tipped his head back to allow better access, stroked a hand lazily down Hux’s back. Hux moved down, kissed his way to Kylo’s nipple, licked it, sucked it, scraped it with his teeth just to hear Kylo’s gasp.

“Please,” Kylo whispered, his lazy hand suddenly gripping Hux’s ass, fingers digging in. Hux moaned around Kylo’s flesh, flicked it with his tongue, pushed against the hand and then rocked back down into Kylo’s hips. He liked it like this, too tight, his body weight trapping his cock against Kylo just painful enough to start to make him hard. Kylo bucked up against him again, his legs spread around him, and Hux tasted the short moan that rose up out of him, felt it against his lips through Kylo’s chest. He moved down to Kylo’s ribs, teased there with his teeth, the thin skin so inviting.

“Fuckin’ bite me Hux, god damn it,” Kylo whined, and so Hux did, scraped his teeth so they’d bring up a red abrasion, sank his teeth in until Kylo hissed and clenched his fingers into Hux’s ass again. He licked over the bite, moved down, just over the lowest rib where it arched over his abdominals, bit down again, sucked at the mark, brought blood to the surface while Kylo keened. Then, another, closer to the centre line of his body, over his hard abs. They quivered under his mouth and Hux wanted to smile, hid it in another bite, right next to Kylo’s navel. When he pulled back to survey his work, the marks were already raspberry red, mottling tattoos, marking a trail down Kylo’s body to his filling cock.  He walked his fingers between them, watched Kylo’s abs twitch.

“Wait just there,” Hux said, pulling the box within reach. The leather wrist cuffs were padded on the inside, fitted with D-rings, and locked with a series of clips. Hux buckled the first around Kylo’s left wrist, pushed his arm up towards the headboard, asked Kylo to grab hold of one of the twisted metal vertical rods that made up the backrest while he buckled the other cuff. Slowly, he pushed that arm up as well, and Kylo gripped the headboard with the other hand, without being prompted. Hux clipped the two cuffs together, behind a few of the metal rods, and sat back again. Kylo looked good like that, his body stretched out, presented, a line of bites going up his torso, his cock lying thick and mostly hard against his belly.

“How’s that?” Hux asked, and Kylo tested the restraints, saw that the heavy frame of the bed did not budge, and settled against the pillows.

“Is this why you bought this bed?” The clips jangled as Kylo shifted slightly, scraped where the metal rods twisted decoratively.

“No,” Hux answered, picking through the box, “But it has proven useful. Though, I expect you are quite strong. Do try not to break my bed.”

The huff through Kylo’s nose could have been something like a laugh, but his face remained mostly impassive, until Hux brought out the lighter of his two floggers. At that, Kylo’s brows went up.

“Is this where I tell you my safeword?” Hux was thrilled that Kylo was nearly joking again. He rubbed Kylo’s knee with his free hand, twirled the flogger in the other.

“If you prefer. There are a few methods there. Some prefer a safeword, and even find picking one part of the fun.” He trailed the soft black leather down Kylo’s thigh, let the ends tickle against his balls. “Or, you might use the stoplight or colour system: green for go ahead, yellow if you need me to slow down or if you need a break, red if you want me to stop what I’m doing. There’s nothing wrong with needing to stop, by the way. Me, myself, personally,” Hux mused, letting the leather strips dance up Kylo’s abs, “I go somewhat non-verbal after subbing for a while, so I like to use the three-finger system. One finger, or a thumbs up if I check in and you’re feeling good, two if you want to slow down for a bit, three to stop. I’ll check in periodically. How are your hands, by the way? You’ll need to tell me if they start going numb.”

Kylo gave him two thumbs up. “Ready when you are,” he said. Hux pulled the tails of the flogger back with his left hand, brought them down on Kylo’s upper chest with the right. Kylo sucked in a breath, his thighs tightening around Hux’s hips, but he did not tell Hux to stop. So, Hux repeated the action, then again, and again, until Kylo’s chest was rosy under the blue-black lines of his tattoos. Hux trailed the tails down, bent to kiss the reddened skin gently. It was warm with blood under his lips, and the soft sound in Kylo’s throat didn’t sound like him, and Hux looked up.

“How many fingers?” he asked, and Kylo put his thumbs up again.

“I’m good. Keep going.” He lifted his knees higher, and Hux shifted back on the bed to look at him.

“You might have a bit of colour there, on your upper chest, over the next few days.”

“That’s fine,” Kylo answered. “I want to remember this, anyway. Like the burn.”

Hux petted the flat of his hand over the healing burn, felt its raised edges under his palm. Kylo was covered in his marks: the burn, the bites, the raw, red welts from the flogger.

“You look incredible, Kylo,” he murmured. He kissed Kylo’s knee because it was the closest part of him to his mouth, and then dropped the flogger on the bed, considered what he’d do next. “Can you lift your hips up for me?”

When Kylo did, Hux pushed a pillow under him. It left Kylo open and exposed, and Hux knew that if this were one of Kylo’s shows, the man would be giving that veiled smirk to the camera, knowing he was giving people what they wanted to see. He’d be debating which toy to push into himself. He’d be goading his viewers into a bidding war over their favourites. At that moment, though, Kylo was quiet. His breathing was heavy and he was flushed and sweaty, but he had none of his usual taunting words. Hux smoothed a hand from the back of Kylo’s knee to the curve of his ass. He selected a crop from the box, moved around Kylo until he could hold Kylo’s legs up in what had the unfortunate title of ‘the diaper position’, ran the looped leather over Kylo’s thighs, appreciated the view of Kylo’s balls between his thighs.

“Has anyone ever spanked you?”

“With a hand, yeah. Not with one of those.” He didn’t sound afraid as Hux continued to slide the shaft of the crop over his legs and ass, but still, Hux felt he had to warn him.

“This position is the most painful to be spanked in. Actually, I believe being hit with a crop is technically being /whipped/, rather than spanked.” Lightly, he tapped Kylo on the upper thighs, just above the meat of his ass. “Right here is very sensitive. Actually, I think I remember thinking about this when you got this tattoo.” He circled the image of Blind Justice on Kylo’s thigh. “Is it healed enough?”

“Yeah. It’s been like three weeks, and it’s just lines. Not too deep or anything.”

Hux checked, and Kylo’s cock was still hard. Good sign. “Do you want it? Do you want to feel the crop stinging you?”

Kylo nodded, then, said “Yes. Yeah, fuck. Make it hurt, Hux.” He writhed in the sheets as much as he was able, arms bound over his head, hips canted up on top of a pillow. Hux drew his arm back, struck Kylo at the roundest part of his ass, was treated to a perfect yelp.

“Fuck,” Kylo panted when the sting faded. “More.”

With each strike, Kylo’s noises got higher and higher in pitch, and he sped the smacks, until every exhale from Kylo’s mouth was a short whine, every inhale a gasp. Red welts crossed his ass and thighs. The undersides of his cheeks were flushed blotchy, vaguely purplish at the centre of the damage. Hux stroked the leather loop softly over this abused flesh again, until Kylo sighed. He gave him one more swat, and Kylo almost screamed.

“Hux I’m so hard,” he complained, flexing his hands in his restraints.

Hux ignored it. “Are your hands going numb?”

“No,” Kylo answered, some of his petulance returned. “But my cock is leaking all over my belly and I really want to be fucked. How many fingers for that, Hux? I can tell you how many fingers /I/ think it should be.” He held up four fingers on his right hand, gathered to a point like he was about to push them inside someone.

Hux pinched the bruised part of Kylo’s ass, heard the choked sound that got him.

“/Hux/,” Kylo whined. He opened his legs, tried to roll his body and mostly succeeded in struggling.

“Perhaps we should move up to the bamboo cane?” Hux couldn’t help it, immediately felt a little bad for teasing Kylo when he was in a bad way. Kylo only kicked against the sheets, his brows knit and his lips turned down.

“Hux please fuck me. I’m literally begging. I’ll do anything you want. Please. Please.”

Hux tutted, set the flogger and the crop on his bedside table to be cleaned later, moved the box to the floor and dug in his bedside table for some lube.

“Fuck, yes,” Kylo groaned when he saw the bottle. He spread his legs wide, tilted his hips up on the pillow. His red ass and thighs, the bites and welts, the still-healing burn, Hux wanted to lick over every one. Instead he licked over Kylo’s balls and to the base of his cock, slipped his fist around it, pumped it loose and slow.

“Shit, Hux, why?” He bucked against Hux’s face, into the circle of his hand, seeking more friction. “My ass is so empty. You never fucked me that first time even though I thought you would. Want it so bad…” Kylo bit his lip, looked absolutely miserable with want, but his hips didn’t stop. Hux kissed his way up Kylo’s cock to the tip, licked over it teasingly as he continued to stroke slowly up and down the length. A fat drop of precome welled up and he licked it away.

“Don’t you think I’d look good with your come painting my face?” Hux asked in response. “People have specifically asked me for that in the past, you know. Wanted to see their come dripping over my freckles.”

“You’d make a decent camguy, talking like that,” Kylo muttered, clearly desperate enough to be annoyed. His composure broke when Hux teased just the tip of his tongue into Kylo’s slit, slid it down against the frenulum, circled it there. His knees shook and the cuffs rattled against the bed frame as Kylo moaned and begged. “Hux please,” he whined. “I need more. I need it. I need to fucking feel something, please!”

Taking pity, Hux swallowed Kylo down. He knew this wasn’t what Kylo wanted, ultimately, but he wanted to distract him from those thoughts he could almost hear rising like a tide in Kylo again. /He just wants to feel something./

The angle was difficult, but leaning on one arm he fumbled the lube open and squeezed some out on his hand, without pulling his mouth off of Kylo for too long. Kylo whimpered, sounding nothing like he had the last time Hux had taken his cock in his mouth, but his hips twitched up into the waiting heat, even as he furrowed his brow and chewed his lips. Hux moved so his arm touched Kylo’s ass, kept contact between them as he warmed the lube in his fingers. When his middle finger touched Kylo’s hole, Kylo immediately bore down on it, groaning, straining in his manacles, then he rocked back up again into Hux’s mouth. Hux pushed in slow, slick, concentrating more on working Kylo into his throat than opening him up, even as he pumped more lube over his fingers, pushed it into Kylo’s hole.

Finally, he managed to swallow Kylo down. It was a struggle, big as Kylo was, and he fought his gag reflex, swallowing convulsively. Kylo gave a sharp cry, and Hux sucked his way up and off of Kylo’s cock. It was red and needy, and his throat felt a little bruised when he swallowed, but he kept up the motion of his finger, stretching Kylo just that little bit.

“I’ve seen you do this to yourself so many times,” Hux commented quietly, his voice rough from Kylo’s cock pressing at the back of his throat.

“Then you know I can take more.” He twisted a bit, this way and that, before giving up. “I can’t get any leverage with my hands tied like this…”

Hux flashed him a small smile. “Then you’ll have to just take what I give you.”

Rather than fighting, Kylo relaxed. There was a pause where Kylo looked at the wall, and then his feet stopped skidding on the bedcovers. He gave in, and when Hux drew his finger out, counting to ten in his mind to keep it slow and even, pressing down as he went, Kylo moaned, low and hungry. Hux shifted up on the bed, sat on his knees but kept his thigh against Kylo’s body, lined up his index finger, pushed them in together. Kylo sucked in a long breath, but didn’t say anything. His eyes were closed. He licked his lips. Hux fucked two fingers into him until it was easy, and then added a third, angled his fingers down, stretched Kylo’s hole around his knuckles.

“How do you feel?” he asked, when Kylo had been quiet for awhile aside from gasps and short groans.

“Good,” Kylo answered simply. “Can feel where you hit me, pressed against your leg. Stings, but it’s good.”

“Good,” Hux echoed, rubbing his free hand over Kylo’s thighs. He couldn’t feel the stripes, except that the skin was hotter with blood, but he could imagine. He slipped his fourth finger in, and Kylo moaned ‘fuck,’ drawn out, breathless, and he clenched down around the flat of Hux’s hand. His thumb played at Kylo’s stretched rim and Kylo’s legs shook. He didn’t beg, though, just bit his lip and closed his eyes. Finally, Hux withdrew his fingers, pushed his shorts off, and lubed his cock. Kylo’s eyes had opened when his hole closed around nothing, and he lay there, simply watched Hux slick up, his eyes wide, his lips puffy from being bitten. Hux had never known him to be quiet. A high sound escaped Kylo when Hux rubbed his tip against Kylo’s stretched entrance. Then, a rough, needy sound as Hux pushed in.

For the first few thrusts, Kylo said nothing, only breathed heavily, grasped at the metal bars, sweated into the sheets. Then, Hux drew back, adjusted the pillow under Kylo’s hips, bucked a little harder, and each thrust in drew a sharp yelp from Kylo’s abused lips. He seemed to struggle with keeping his eyes open, like he wanted to look at Hux, watch everything he did, but each time Hux leaned in, touched a deep place inside of him, his lashes fluttered and he seemed lost.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hux said, before he had a moment to think about what he was saying, because Kylo was so warm and tight around him and how long had it been, since he did this, since he’d been inside of someone, pushing pleasure into them? Hux’s eyes met Kylo’s, waiting to see if he’d laugh, or tell Hux to fuck off. He drew his hips back, pushed in again. Kylo’s lips twitched, he heaved a sigh, and a fresh tear rolled down his cheek.

Hux didn’t know what to do, but when he slowed the roll of his hips, Kylo cried out, and the tears came harder and faster.

“Please,” he choked, and Hux hesitated just a second before picking up again. Kylo continued to cry, his face going red and blotchy, and Hux didn’t know how to feel. Was this a reaction to being called beautiful, or had Kylo just remembered the events of the week? Either way, if a solid fuck was what he needed from Hux, then…

Hux bent over him, gripped him by the hips to drive in harder. Kylo struggled to push into it, his cock leaking steadily against his belly, precome dripping into his navel.

“Yes,” Kylo rasped. He looked utterly wretched, but he clenched around Hux, moaned when Hux wrapped his fist around him. “Oh… Harder.”

Hux didn’t know if he meant the fucking or the stroking, so he picked up with both, his thighs aching with the effort. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up, the tight grip on Kylo’s cock, the rough pace of his hips. It all felt too good, and despite himself, Hux rather liked the look of Kylo, crying and moaning at the same time— it made him look like he’d gone witless with pleasure, too overwhelmed, especially when Kylo’s eyes started to roll back in his head, and the noises from his throat were a near constant rising howl. It was all going to be over so fast, with tears trickling over Kylo’s scar, soaking into his hair.

“Hux, I can’t, with my hands—” he tried to indicate with his chin, ended up just tossing his curls all over. “The burn, your burn. Dig your thumb in, please, please, I want to feel it.”

It wasn’t easy to let go of Kylo’s cock. It was so hard and hot and velvety in his grasp, and it dripped freely, clearly aching. But Kylo begged him, begged him for the pain of his thumb against the unhealed burn, and so he gripped Kylo by the hips, and pressed his nail into its shiny surface.

Kylo jumped as if electrocuted, his body arching and going taut. Clearly he wasn’t sure if he wanted to press into it, or shy away. He moaned, moaned until he screamed as Hux kept up the pressure, tears still streaming down his face, his ass tightening almost painfully around Hux until Kylo's breath hitched, he hiccupped, and he came. His whole body shook with it, rattled the bed. He gripped the bed frame so tight his knuckles were white. He threw his head back against the pillows, his mouth stretched wide as he shouted with every pulse. Hux didn’t usually like loud lovers, but he ground his hips and his hand at the same time, mixing Kylo’s pain and pleasure as his come splattered his stomach.

“Yes, yes, yes /yes/,” Kylo panted, through the tears, through everything. His cock continued drooling come even when His body relaxed, as Hux continued fucking into him, chasing his own pleasure. Kylo was beautiful. Covered in Hux’s bites, welts, burns, and all of that, red under Kylo’s come. Kylo continued to sob quietly, but his face was blissful, like an ecstatic saint. He licked his puffy lips, clenched down weakly with a small smile, and Hux came.

“Uh, ughn,” Hux stammered, surprised, pleasure arcing through him, come slicking Kylo’s hole as his hips snapped hard and desperate. “Fuck,” he gasped, as Kylo’s hole milked another spurt out of him, then another. “Kylo!” he cried, feeling drained, empty, but his cock kept twitching, dry. He collapsed forward, still buried inside, smeared his chest with Kylo’s come as he laid across him and waited for his cock to soften. He could almost feel tears pricking behind his own eyes. Kylo’s chest continued to shake with sobs under Hux’s cheek. He listened to the strong beat to Kylo’s heart.

The scrape of metal on metal reminded him to reach up, unclip Kylo’s wrists. Slowly, Kylo lowered his arms, but instead of unbuckling the cuffs, he merely smoothed his hands down Hux’s back, wrapped his arms around him. He didn’t seem to mind being crushed under Hux’s weight, or having Hux’s cock slowly slide out of him. His come was drying between them, and it would be flaky and itchy soon, but neither of them was really ready to deal with that. Hux only pushed up from Kylo’s chest when he felt him take a long, shuddering breath.

With the manacle still around his wrist, Kylo wiped at his eyes, rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers. He sighed heavily, and looked at Hux, puffy-eyed.

“I feel really stupid, Hux. You know that?”

Hux braced on his elbows, his belly still resting against Kylo’s, their legs tangled. Sweat stung between them, and Hux ached to roll off, spread out, get some cool air on his overheated inner things, but he couldn’t quite bear to let go of Kylo just yet. He didn’t offer Kylo any answer, but Kylo went on anyway.

“I was making good money camming. I thought, what the fuck, it pays well, it’s not like I have to… I dunno, use my degree or whatever. I created this whole… /person/ to be, when I was on-camera and I—” He scrubbed at his eyes again. “I thought like, ‘Kylo Ren’ is just my stage name. I can go back to being myself some other time. Probably the only person I fooled about that was myself. I don’t really know who ‘Kylo Ren’ is, or if there ever was a difference, to start with.”

Hux wasn’t really sure what Kylo meant by any of that, but he thought he’d let Kylo work through it at his own pace. He seemed to be doing pretty well at that so far.

“Do you wanna know why I left my phone at the lookout when I went driving?” He looked at Hux then, really looked at him, his eyes red-rimmed and his eyelashes gathered into points. Hux shucked up one shoulder. “Snoke called me. I guess he found out I’d missed a few shows. I didn’t think he’d care. I’d missed shows before, and I figured I had a pretty fucking good excuse this time. But he said my ratings would slip if I was inattentive, and that I was usually better at ‘advertising’,” Kylo used scare quotes, there, “than this. That’s actually the word he used. It was a fucking weird conversation. He said, with my ability for /connecting with the viewer/, I could work in film or television, marketing, whatever. But only if I didn’t let myself get /distracted/.” He wiped his nose with his hand, and Hux tried not to wince. “He didn’t even mention what’s going on with my family, but I know he knows. It was on the news, and like. I’m pretty sure he knows who I am. Pretty sure. Like he doesn’t directly handle my W-2 or anything but I don’t think he calls any of the other guys on their phones. And he owns some of those news networks. I don’t get it.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Anyway I didn’t want to deal with it. So I left my phone with someone else.”

Shifting to the side, allowing Kylo some breathing room, Hux puzzled it over. Snoke’s dislike of Kylo’s mother was one thing, but, why the carrot on a stick for some sort of media marketing job? Hux couldn’t imagine Kylo, with all of his tattoos and DGAF attitude, going corporate. Was it just an attempt to drive a wedge between Kylo and Speaker Organa-Solo, or was there some grander plan? Kylo didn’t appear to know either way, and Hux didn’t want to dig into that, so he just lay there, drawing meaningless patterns on the centre of Kylo’s chest, listening to Kylo breathe. He didn’t know how long they lay there like that, but when he shifted up to look at Kylo’s burn, to see what damage he’d done by prodding at it, he saw that Kylo was asleep. Hux didn’t know if it was the sex or the crying that wore him out, but he shimmied out of the bed carefully so as not to wake him, regardless.

In the bathroom he sought out burn ointment and mild lotion, planning to massage these into the various injuries Hux had left on Kylo’s skin, at his request. Kylo mumbled in his sleep as Hux spread the cool lotion on his skin, almost woke up when Hux attended to the welts on his thighs and ass, but instead just rolled over onto his stomach and wrapped his arms around a pillow with a huff. It was kind-of cute, and Hux found himself smiling fondly, as if he hadn’t invited a stranger to cry in his lap and fuck in his bed. He squashed that feeling by throwing on a robe and padding out into the living room to dump out their cold tea. He made a new cup, watched some television, read his emails, studied up on the artists going to the Whitney. He ate half of the biscuits originally intended for Kylo. It was late when he went to bed, but Kylo was still sleeping soundly, so Hux shrugged off the robe, and slid into bed next to him. Kylo had brought his car. He could leave when he wanted to, and it was a fucking Audi so Hux didn’t think Kylo really had any reason to rob him in his sleep. He closed his eyes, and listened to the regular rise and fall of Kylo’s breath. He scooted a bit closer, and every time Kylo breathed in, his back brushed Hux, just slightly. Hux slept like the dead.

When he awoke, Kylo was gone, but that wasn’t exactly unexpected. Well, the fact that he woke at five in the morning and Kylo had already left was a little surprising, but Kylo had gone to sleep quite early. Perhaps he’d woken in the wee hours and had been unable to go back to sleep. Hux slipped his robe on, went about his morning routine, quickly so he had time to pack and print out his boarding pass. Ordinarily, he would have had all of this done already, but he’d gotten a bit side-tracked the night before. Kylo had left no trace of his having been there, except for the manacles on the night stand and his untouched mug, now in the drying rack in the kitchen. Hux didn’t think he’d have time to run the dishwasher, and he walked around the house a few times making sure he wasn’t forgetting anything before calling an Uber. It would be expensive, but better than leaving his car at LAX.

The Uber driver was a chatty one, even as Hux put in the absolute minimum to responses. Hux instead devoted his attention to his phone, texting both Mitaka and Mr. Snoke to say he was on his way to the airport. Snoke didn’t text, but Hux’s phone buzzed with an email moments later, containing further notes about the art Snoke wanted Hux to purchase, as well as the prices to which he was willing to go, and how much money Snoke would wire into Hux’s account. He would want receipts and expense reports to cover any expenditures Hux made on the trip. The control the man wielded over his funds was extremely tightly bolted, and Hux read the email over a few times, an odd tension settling into his shoulders. He glanced up just in time to see the Uber driver making the wrong turn, driving down towards Arrivals instead of continuing ahead to Departures.

“That was the wrong turn,” he stated.

The driver apologised in an irritatingly unconcerned kind of way, and said he’d have to go all the way around to the exit to re-enter from the top side, and Hux, fed up, grabbed the handle of his single carry-on suitcase.

“No, just drop me off at Virgin America and I’ll take the escalator,” he instructed, calculating the amount of time he’d have to get through security and eat something other than biscuits before a five-hour flight, considering this delay. The driver asked if he was sure, asked if he wanted some water, said it was no problem to circle around. Hux could not get out fast enough.

He rolled his suitcase along the pavement, tried to calm his nerves. He wasn’t a fan of flying— too many variables. He checked his pocket for his boarding pass for the umpteenth time, and nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw Kylo standing outside Terminal 3 with a cigarette, pacing. Airport security was ignoring him. He seemed to be taking notice of every one and every thing, his hands restless. He was wearing exactly the same clothing as he’d worn at Hux’s the previous night.

Hux didn’t recall telling Kylo he’d be flying out that day. He approached him cautiously, and when Kylo spotted him, he dropped his cigarette.

“How did you know I’d be here?” he asked. Hux stepped on his burning cigarette for him, gestured to his suitcase.

“I didn’t. I’m flying to New York.”

“You’re— oh.” Kylo glanced around for a moment, lost. “You’re in the wrong part of the terminal.” He pointed overhead, toward Departures. He looked terrible, despite how much he’d slept at Hux’s.

“My Uber driver took the wrong turn.”

Kylo nodded, in a jerky, distracted way, glancing around them as if he expected to be attacked.

“What are you doing here?” Hux asked, when no explanation was forthcoming from Kylo’s end. Kylo looked at the ground, clenched and unclenched his hands.

“Dad died last night,” he said, quietly. A chill went through Hux. Suddenly, all the honking and people and traffic sounds seemed so far away. Everything was muted, as though he and Kylo stood alone in a bell jar, frozen in time while the rest of the world ticked by around them. Hux’s skin prickled. Kylo shuffled in his pointy boots. “Mom’s landing today. I got the call from the hospital about two this morning, rushed over there. They couldn’t keep him stable. I don’t… I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know how to plan a funeral or. Anything.” 

“I’m so sorry, Kylo,” Hux said, and he meant it. He’d offered insincere condolences countless times in his life, but for this man, whom he kept telling himself he barely knew, he meant it. He checked the time. He should likely be approaching security soon. “Have a coffee with me?”

For a moment, Kylo didn’t respond. Then, he nodded, numbly, and followed Hux through the automatic doors towards the Peet’s kiosk.

They sat together, clutching their coffees and pastries, on those nondescript chairs in one of the Arrivals lobbies. Hux had purchased two cinnamon buns, and forced one of the paper bags into Kylo’s hands, wagering the man hadn’t eaten in at least 24 hours, possibly more. Kylo ate like he wasn’t tasting anything, staring at the far wall with the updated arrivals board on it, chewed and swallowed mechanically. He said nothing. Hux should really be upstairs already. He sipped his masala chai latte, studied Kylo’s profile.

What could he say to a man who had just lost his father, who sat in an airport waiting for his mother who had not been there at the moment of her husband’s death? Would Kylo harbour that guilt and resentment for the rest of his life? Silence yawned between them, and he didn’t know how to fill it. He looked around at everyone else, just passing through space and time, waiting for someone or something. Hux remembered something Kylo had said the night before: /I can’t believe this happens to people every fucking day and no one gives a shit./

He couldn’t invite any of these strangers into Kylo’s perfectly human tragedy. He’d shoehorned himself into it, and he wasn’t sure Kylo appreciated that fact. He hadn’t even said ‘thanks’ for the pastry he ate with such disinterest, just accepted it. Put one foot in front of the other. Sat when Hux found two seats together. He was too tall, too large on the chair, and Hux felt caught in his gravity.

“Will your mother have an entourage? Security? Something?” It had taken that long to consider Speaker Organa-Solo’s position, and what it would mean for Kylo. He couldn’t imagine the man wanted to fight off the press just to collect his mother from the airport. He didn’t need that kind of attention, not when he was suffering, not ever.

Kylo shrugged. “She knows how to be discreet.” He scuffed the heel of his shoe against the shiny floor. “I guess she doesn’t do it often, but she does know how.”

Announcements crackled over the tannoy. Hux ignored them. Kylo sipped his coffee, just for something to do. When he scratched at his collarbone, pulled at the neck of his shirt, Hux could see some light bruising from the flogger, felt shame coil within him. Was it wrong of him to do that? Should he not have agreed when Kylo said he needed a fuck just to feel something? He thanked the heavens that the call from the hospital came afterwards. That Kylo heard his phone buzzing in the pocket of his discarded jeans and woke up to answer it. He didn’t know if he could live with himself, knowing he’d been fucking someone when their father passed away. Kylo sighed, abandoned his empty cup on the seat next to him, went on staring at the wall. He looked worn out. Hollow. There were dark circles under his eyes and patchy stubble was growing in. Even with all that, even in the sick yellow light in the Arrivals lobby, Hux still thought he was beautiful. He wanted to reach out and touch him, and make sure he was still solid, wanted to wrap arms around him, kiss the frown from his lips. He wanted to take him home again.

Hux’s phone rang, and he nearly dropped his cup, set it on the ground to reach into his jacket pocket. His boarding pass stuck to his phone case and fell to the floor as he fumbled with his phone. Snoke was calling him again. Kylo reached down slowly, picked up Hux’s pre-printed boarding pass, glanced over it.

“‘Armitage’, huh?” he commented in a flat tone. Hux looked at him, his phone continuing to ring. He declined the call, then dropped the phone back in his pocket. It chimed with a reminder that his flight would be boarding soon. Kylo was offering him his hand. “Ben,” he said, and Hux took his hand, shook it.

Hux didn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end! Thanks everyone for sticking around. I know I went on kind-of a long hiatus after I moved, but I hope you enjoyed this final instalment. I'd also like to thank my beta, Scrunchles, who has been so helpful and very prompt throughout this project. I started writing this sometime in May or June of 2016. 7 months later here we are. Thanks for coming along for the ride.


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